Tea & Sympathy
by AnnabelMinerva
Summary: Alex, Olivia. Alex returns to New York.
1. Call

It was late July, and sweltering. In the streets, people walked around in shorts and t-shirts, and many had taken to carrying umbrellas as parasols. Even in the evenings, it was warm enough to go without sleeves. For those who were obliged to wear suits, the heat in all but the best air-conditioned buildings was unbearable. Ice-cream vendors had been making record profits for the last month, and all over the city lemonade stands had been springing up at every corner.

Olivia was suffering, but not nearly so badly as the others. When she had come into the office with a sleeveless shirt and linen pants on that morning, ready for a day of paperwork and a minimum of moving about, she could almost hear Elliot's growl of frustration. He, like everyone with half an inch of sense, had removed his jacket and tie within half an hour of arriving, but he was still overheated and irritable. The building was old and dark and certainly cooler than some of the other precincts, but sunlight streamed through the windows. Everyone was quiet on days like that.

They had not been thrown a case that day - they weren't catching, and had a mountain of forms to fill in, some for Cragen, some for this week's ADA, a Ms Madeleine Cady. She seemed nice enough, in a vague sort of way. She had surprised them in court; they had all expected her to be as dreamy in front of a judge as she was with them. But the moment she stepped into the courtroom, she suddenly became competent and authoritative, and extremely well-prepared. Olivia had supposed that perhaps the time she spent staring into space at crime scenes, which had thoroughly irritated all of them, was spent in furious consideration of legal matters. She didn't really care.

Olivia and Elliot had gone out for a drink after work, which Olivia had been pleased by. They were as close as they ever had been, but Elliot had been struggling through some problems at home that month. He and Kathy were getting along better, if not brilliantly, although Elliot still seemed optimistic about their chances. She had asked him about it, and in an uncharacteristic fit of honesty, he had answered without joking.

"I'm not in love with her," he said, "but I love her. And I think that's worth protecting. I think I would rather sleep next to someone I love than not, even if it isn't exciting and it's sometimes an uphill struggle and the kids are driving us crazy. I do love her."

Olivia had nodded, and sipped her beer. This made sense to her. At this point, she was not overeager for the loss of control which came with new love. She liked her life as it was, more or less. She was lonely sometimes, and her heart ached when she saw mothers with their children, playing in Central Park or walking hand-in-hand home from school, or couples laughing together with the easy familiarity of long association, but she was happy. She liked her job. She liked her friends. She would like a better apartment, and was saving up accordingly. She had plenty to do, and plenty to read and to watch and to hear. It wasn't perfect, but it was her life. She liked it.

And yet…and yet, something tugged at her. Something was not quite right, and she could feel it in her stomach late at night. Something prevented her from contentment, and try as she might, she could neither identify nor placate it. It washed over her, and she accepted it.

That evening, after her drink with Elliot, she had gone home. Elliot had to get home himself, because Kathleen and Maureen were both home from college at the same time, practically a miracle in itself, and Kathy had wanted them all together for dinner. Olivia had laughed and wished him luck. She walked home, poured a glass of wine, turned on the television, and smiled to herself. Simple pleasures.

As the adverts came on, the phone rang. She muted the television and wondered, idly, who would be calling her at home on a Friday evening. If it were work, they would phone her cell. Casey, perhaps - she called when she was in town, and sometimes when she wasn't, and they could talk for hours. Simon was a possibility, although not a strong one. Elliot, who knew she was at home. Now faintly curious, she took the call.

"Hello?"

"Liv?"

Oh. She had not been expecting that. Until recently, Alex had been amongst the people she would have considered when wondering who was calling her. But they had not spoken since Alex had left for Africa.

"Alex? Is that you?"

Olivia could hear Alex's sigh of relief on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, it's me. Thank God, Liv. I called work, but they said you weren't there."

Despite herself, Olivia laughed. It was just like Alex to expect her to still be at work. They knew each other that well.

"How are you, Alex? Scratch that - _where_ are you?"

Now it was Alex's turn to laugh.

"I'm about to leave Paris," she said.

"Paris?" Olivia asked, confused. "I'll admit I got a heap of Cs in Geography, but I'm pretty sure Paris isn't in Africa."

Alex laughed again. Olivia's heart swelled - she had missed Alex badly.

"No, you're quite right. I'm here for a conference, but I'm flying back to New York this evening. In twenty minutes, in fact."

"Back-back to New York?" Olivia stuttered.

"Yes. I…well, I didn't know who else to call, and I need to see you anyway, and-"

"About what?"

"It's a long story. Look, can I ask you a huge favor?"

"Yes," Olivia said immediately. Alex laughed again.

"You don't want to hear what it is first?"

"No."

"I need a place to stay. I can stay in hotel if you haven't got the space, but I didn't know I was coming back until this morning, and-"

"And the Waldorf-Astoria doesn't take late bookings," Olivia finished, and Alex could hear the grin in her voice. "Of course you can stay with me. When does your flight get in?"

"Hang on - six hours, two, seven hours -"

"It'll be on the ticket," Olivia pointed out.

"Oh. Yes." Alex was glad Olivia couldn't see her blush. "One in the morning, Eastern Standard Time."

"Newark?"

"JFK."

"I'll be there."

There was a pause.

"I missed you," Olivia said. Alex felt a pleasant warmth in her stomach.

"I missed you, too, Liv. And now I need to run and catch my plane, or all this will be academic. See you at one."

"One o'clock."

They hung up, and Olivia stared at the muted television. The conversation had been so short that the ads for McDonald's and Dairy Queen were still dancing luridly across the screen. Olivia shook her head, and got up to pour the rest of her wine, which was most of the glass, down the drain. She got a Diet Coke, figuring that she would need the caffeine, and began to clean her apartment. She changed the sheets on her bed, pulled the sofa-bed into its bed form and made it up, washed a week's worth of dishes, cleared out her fridge, all the while thinking of Alex. When she was done cleaning the apartment, she looked down at herself, even more disheveled than she had been, and decided to shower and change. She was, she admitted to herself, more than a little confused. As close as she and Alex had once been, they had not spoken in six months. And now she would be staying here. Olivia shrugged to herself. The world was, as always, a strange and wonderful place. All you could do was try to keep up.


	2. Meeting

As Olivia drove through the city, now stone-cold sober, she watched the streets with the usual mix of professional curiosity and amusement. It was midnight, and city was humming with activity. Hookers of all shapes and sizes were strolling along the sidewalk, calling out jovially to passersby. A thrumming bass and screeching guitar spilled out from a concert in a nearby park, and drunken revelers tripped over their own feet. In diners, people drank late-night coffee and ate late-night pie and shared late-night kisses. This was Olivia's favorite time of day as a person, and her least favorite as a cop. Her cop self preferred the stillness of four-thirty in the morning, when most people had gone to bed but none had gotten up for work yet. Then you could speed through the city at a remarkable pace if you had to.

She arrived too early at the airport, so she took a moment to fish the photograph she kept in her wallet out and look at it. Someone - probably a passing uniform - had been persuaded to take this picture of them all last year when Alex came back the second time. (How many times had she come back and left, Olivia wondered. Too many.) They were at a bar, only faintly inebriated because at least two of them were on call that night, and crowded around a single table. Olivia could remember when the only people she trusted in the world were Cragen and Elliot. She was glad of them, liked them and trusted them all explicitly. Alex was sitting next to her in the photograph, closer than they would have done otherwise to fit in the frame. Looking at the picture, Olivia could still remember the feel of being crushed between Alex and Elliot. Her two closest friends. It was not an unpleasant memory.

Olivia got out of the car, and walked into the terminal. It took her a while to work out where she was going, as the display boards were less than helpful, but she figured it out eventually and headed off towards the gate. She had always loved airports, loved the hustle of foreign-looking people in strange clothing and the contrast of broad, familiar accents with more exotic ones. She liked to fly, too, although she didn't often. She found herself smiling as she waited, amongst a small crowd, for the flight from Paris to come in. There were weary husbands in crumpled suits, enthusiastic families waiting for distant relatives, and one lonely-looking woman in a bright red dress. She leaned against the railing and waited.

The first few passengers were not Alex. They continued to not be Alex. People were swept into delighted embraces, and there were cool, professional handshakes, but Alex was nowhere to be seen. Olivia scanned each person, checking that it was not merely that Alex was dressed unusually or had dyed her hair, but none of them were.

And then one of them was.

She was caught between a tall black man in a suit and an even taller woman with bright red hair, so Olivia did not immediately see her. But then she saw a flash of bright blonde against the red, and a pair of black glasses, and Olivia knew, even before she saw her face properly. She knew, and her smile only grew wider as she waited for the crowd of passengers to thin enough for Alex to see her too.

When she did, their eyes met through the bustle, and Alex could barely keep from running towards Olivia. Instead, she walked briskly towards the barrier, her low heels clicking across the floor, until they were face-to-face. And then neither of them could be restrained and proper any more, and they fell into each others' arms and were laughing and beaming with joy. Olivia could feel that Alex was even thinner than she had been when she left, and her hair was as short as it had been when they first met, about the same length as her own, and Alex could see that Olivia hadn't changed at all. Not one tiny bit.

"Alex," Olivia said, half-whispered, half-laughed. Alex smiled against Olivia's hair.

"Liv."

They broke apart, although not before Alex had kissed Olivia's cheek, and Olivia took the handle of Alex's suitcase from the floor, where Alex had dropped it.

"How are you?" Olivia asked, as they began to walk through the terminal, back towards the car.

"I'm…you know, I've been worse," Alex said. "And you?"

"Good. I'm well."

"The others?"

"All well. Melinda is fine now-"

"Now? What happened?"

Olivia stopped abruptly. She had forgotten how long Alex had been gone.

"She was shot," she said, trying to sound calm. "By a grieving mother. But she's fine."

Alex winced, and Olivia wanted to kick herself. The shooting. Velez. The minute Alex was back, and she's already stuck her foot in it. Idiot.

"Sorry," she said, and Alex shook her head.

"No, it's OK. I'm glad to hear she's alright. Any other excitement?" Alex was trying for levity, and nearly succeeded. Olivia smiled gratefully.

"I think that's about it."

"Good. And who- who replaced me?" It was surprisingly hard to say.

"Now that's a long story," Olivia said, and plunged straight into it. As they walked back to the car, and Alex checked her luggage, she talked about Jo Marlowe, and her various degrees of legal success, and then about her replacement, Alba Montague, who had lasted a month before bursting into tears in Jack McCoy's office and pleading for another assignment, _anything_ but _that_, and then _her_ replacement, Caroline LaFontaine, a Louisiana firecracker who was quickly promoted up to Major Case, and _her _replacement, Madeleine Cady.

"-and Madeleine's alright," Olivia finished. Alex was laughing. "What?"

"Your inability to hold onto a lawyer," Alex said. "It's funny. And oddly pleasing."

"Oh, really?" Olivia said, grinning. "Pleasing?"

"Well, I think I'd be offended if you moved on too quickly," Alex said.

"No fear, counselor. We all miss you."

They shared a quiet, warm moment, and then Olivia coughed.

"Do you want to go straight home, or get something to eat, or…"

"I could use a coffee. Or tea, or something. And then I'll sleep for approximately a thousand years."

"I know just the place." They got into the car, and headed back towards Manhattan. Olivia was quiet on the journey, letting Alex breathe in New York in peace. Alex appreciated the gesture, and watched the city spin past. She had been homesick. It was a hard, exhausting job she was doing, and in a new place, and with new people and, combined, it made her miss New York more than she thought possible. She had remembered, more than once, the promise that she had made to herself while stuck in Montana. But you can't always get what you want.

They circled a block for a while until Olivia found a space, and then they walked into the diner, which, even at half past one in the morning, was still pretty full. Alex was drawn out of her past and into her here and now, where a decidedly beautiful woman was trying to buy her a cup of tea and a slice of apple pie and was smiling at her with genuine affection, and she couldn't help but smile right back.


	3. Hope

Alex leaned back into her seat, something which Olivia did not think she had ever seen Alex do before. She had always sat poker-straight, the back of her jacket never touching the chair. Alex noted Olivia's surprise, and smiled wearily.

"It's been a very long day," she said, and Olivia felt guilty for having judged her.

Their drinks came, and two plates of pie, and Alex immediately drank most of her tea - she was ravenous, not having eaten in almost forty-eight hours. When Olivia realized this, from the way her usually dignified friend almost breathed in her slice of pie, she ordered steaks and fries and salads, enough for both of them but fully anticipating giving most of hers to Alex. While they waited, Alex refused to eat Olivia's food, and they came to a stalemate.

"So," Olivia said. "Why are you here?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask me that," Alex said. She didn't sound annoyed, merely amused.

"I lasted," Olivia checked her watch, "an hour. That's not bad."

"No, it isn't. Oh, pass that to me." Olivia grinned and pushed her plate across the table, and in three neat bites, Alex ate the rest of the pie.

"Alright. Here it is. I was finishing up an appeal to the High Court in Nairobi-"

"-as you do," Olivia broke in, grinning.

"-as you do," Alex agreed, "when my assistant came in with a message from the American Embassy."

"This sounds like the beginning of a James Bond film. Cabot, Alex Cabot - International Attorney of Mystery."

Alex laughed bitterly. "My job is nowhere near that glamorous. It's less cocktail dresses and assassins than dust and heat and endless rape victims, and miserable coworkers and homesickness and heartache, and plenty of failure and not much success. It's tiring, and sad, and I find myself waking up most mornings wondering what I'm doing with my life. When I had to fight so hard to come home, why I ever left voluntarily. And I miss my apartment, and my job, and my city. I miss my friends, and I miss you." Her voice was cracking. "I miss being able to have a drink with you after work, and I miss my office at the DA's with all my books, and I miss Elliot teasing me and Jack yelling at me and you making me laugh. But someone has to do my job."

"It doesn't have to be you," Olivia said, as Alex hung her head. "Don't you think you've done enough hard things for one decade?"

Alex looked up at her, and Olivia's face was so earnest, and so kind, that she felt the weight which she carried on her shoulders ease, just a little. Olivia reached across the table and put her hand on Alex's, comfortingly. They sat like that in silence for a while, Olivia brushing her thumb along Alex's knuckles, trying to calm her down enough to talk.

"You are a good person, Alex, but you aren't a saint. You're allowed to say, 'This is too hard'. You've been shot at and buried and hurt beyond measure and I don't think anyone, _anyone_, would blame you if you came back. I would admire you more for admitting the truth and being brave about it than for struggling."

Alex would not cry, she would _not_. She had not cried when she was shot, and she had not cried when they told her she would have to leave her life behind. She had not cried once since she got to Africa, though the stories she heard would have most people curled in a sobbing wreck in the corner of their offices and she had found more than one coworker in this state. She had not cried at the funeral when her father died, nor her mother, nor her childhood best friend whom she had loved unconditionally. But she had cried when she had seen Olivia's face, dumbstruck and grief-stricken, as she climbed out of the SUV after she died. She had cried when she realized that, whether she liked it or not, she only had one night with Olivia in New York before she was shipped back to Wisconsin. And, despite herself, she was crying now, for Olivia was so good and so kind and Alex loved her so very, very much.

"Come here," Olivia said, and Alex moved around the table. They hugged, somewhat awkwardly, but it was heartfelt on both sides. Alex felt safe, something which she had missed while she was away. Nothing made her feel safe like being around her friends. Her big, scary, gun-toting NYPD friends, or her acerbic, whip-smart, and, in the case of Abbie Carmichael, gun-toting, lawyer friends. And Olivia more than any of them.

"There," Olivia said, as Alex swallowed and sat up. "Are you alright?"

Alex nodded. She was, now. Olivia reached for her friend's hand, and squeezed it underneath the table. She did not let go.

"Oh, God. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Everyone cries."

"I don't want to be 'everyone'."

"You aren't. But I won't tell anyone, promise."

"Thanks, Liv. OK." She breathed in. "So, I went to the American Embassy, and on of the diplomats came slithering out to meet me-"

"Slithering?" Olivia asked, grinning.

"Slithering. Smug snake. We sat down, and he handed me a file and said 'For your eyes only, Ms Cabot', and honest to God, I would have clawed his eyes out in court given half a chance-"

"That, I would pay to see-"

"-but I opened the file anyway. There's an orphanage up on the Somali border full of American-born children, Liv. The UN didn't even know about it."

Olivia's blood ran cold.

"American-born? Kidnapped, do you mean?"

"No. Children of American soldiers and locals, or children of dead expatriates or…any child they can think of who might have a claim to being American."

"How many?"

"About thirty. Some teenagers, but mostly babies and toddlers. The people running it were holding them ransom, and the Somali government had been paying them off. These children are starving and ragged and…oh, it's a wreck, Liv."

"What can I do?"

Alex could not breathe for a second. Not, 'What do you want?' or 'Why did they tell you?'. 'What can I do?'. Alex loved her. She couldn't imagine how anyone could not.

"You like kids, don't you?"


	4. Sleep

The food came, and for a while Alex stopped talking and ate her way, steadily and with more than a modicum of elegance, through what would be a fairly large meal for two people. While Alex ate, Olivia thought. Hard. She knew that Alex's mind worked more quickly than hers, but Alex was clearly exhausted, and starving, so Olivia paced through the problem at her own speed. Where could they house thirty children? Presumably, if the US government was planning to claim them, they could go to foster homes, but finding thirty overnight would be impossible. Did she know anyone useful? How were they going to feed them? What-

"Liv?" Alex's voice brought her back to reality, and Olivia realized that she had been staring into space.

"Sorry. Should we go home?"

Alex nodded, and they left. She was beginning to feel the weight of two straight days awake, although she was at least no longer hungry, and sat in a deliberately awkward position so as to avoid falling asleep by accident. She tucked her hair behind her ears, a nervous tic since childhood, and turned to face Olivia.

"Any ideas?"

Olivia shook her head, and took a sharp right.

"Nothing useful. I think we ought to phone El in the morning - he's always remembering another useful army buddy when he needs to weasel himself out of trouble; maybe he can think of someone."

"Good plan," Alex said, too tired to be eloquent.

They pulled up outside Olivia's building, and they made their way up to the apartment. Alex was nearly asleep on her feet, hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion, and halfway up the last flight of stairs she swayed precariously and lost her balance.

Before she could fall even a single step, Olivia had caught her. She wrapped an arm around Alex's waist to prevent further mishap, and they made up the stairs and into the apartment.

"Thank you," Alex said, and smiled. "And now, to bed, before I collapse."

Alex moved to go, but then stopped, realizing that she didn't know where she was going. Olivia saw this, with a rush of affection, stepped in front of Alex, and lead the way to her bedroom. She put Alex's suitcase on the bed.

"Goodnight, Alex," she said. "Please, sleep until noon."

"Deal," Alex replied, with a ghost of her old smile. "Goodnight, Liv."

Olivia turned to go, then changed her mind and swept Alex into another hug. Alex felt the breath catch in her throat, but it felt good, to be safe and warm and not hungry, and in the arms of the person she loved best in the world. Olivia stepped back, and, to Alex's surprise, kissed her forehead.

"Sleep," Olivia said again, and Alex nodded. Olivia left.

The couch was not entirely comfortable, and although Olivia had frequently slept on much worse, she could not settle. Eventually, she gave up, switched on the floor lamp, and took her book from the coffee table. If she was going to be awake, she might as well enjoy it.

She was coming to the end of a chapter when she first heard the noise - a faint, pleading voice. She listened for a second. The noise stopped. She shrugged to herself, chalked it down to New York, and went back to her book.

But there it was again. She got up and checked the front door. Then, careful to tread lightly, she walked into her bedroom, where Alex was presumably asleep.

The sight that met her eyes hurt her heart. Alex was curled into a tight ball, tighter than seemed possible for such a tall woman, and she was shaking.

"No, no, no, no. Please, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I can't. Please. Anything else, please, please, I can't leave her, I can't, don't make me. It hurts, it _hurts. _I can't, I can't, she won't-"

"Alex." Olivia rushed to her side and shook her friend gently. "Alex. _Alex_."

Alex's eyes opened, wide with fear, and saw Olivia.

"Liv, I can't-"

"I know." She lowered herself onto the bed next to Alex and held her. "I know. It's alright. You don't have to do anything. It's alright. Shh, shh."

As Alex woke up a little, she remembered where she was, and found herself in time. This was not a hospital bed in the bowels of Mercy, hidden away from the other patients because she was meant to be a corpse. Her shoulder no longer bled. She was in Liv's arms, in Liv's bed, in Liv's apartment; probably the safest place in New York.

But her dreams were still thick with fog and men in black, who came to her while she was still half-dead and told her that she had to leave. That she she could never see any of them again. Not even Olivia. And she could no more accept that now, six years and three identities later, than she could at the time.

"Liv," she murmured. "Liv, Liv."

"I'm not going anywhere, Alex. Breathe."

She did breathe, slowly and deeply, and Olivia could feel her chest rise and fall against her own. From the way she was holding Alex, she could see the bullet wound in her shoulder. She put two and two together.

"You're safe here, alright? You have to trust me, Alex. No-one can hurt you. I won't let them."

"I know."

"Good."

"They wanted - they wanted me to leave - Liv, I can't-"

"It was a dream, Alex. A nightmare. You don't have to go anywhere. You're going to stay right here with me, alright?"

Olivia held her tighter, and Alex felt the anxiety drain away, slowly, to be replaced by embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Olivia shook her head.

"What for? If you're hurt, this is where I want to be."

So good. So kind. Alex thought her heart might burst. Of course she loved her.

"Thank you."

"Shh. Go back to sleep. I'll stay here."

Olivia smoothed back Alex's hair from her face, and Alex closed her eyes.

"Love you, Liv," she said. Olivia's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't let on, merely continuing to smooth Alex's hair.

"Love you too, Alex. Sleep now. Talk in the morning."

Alex nodded blearily and put a hand on Olivia's cheek to hold her still. Olivia sighed, and, once she was sure Alex was asleep, kissed her gently on the mouth. Then she rearranged herself into a more comfortable position, arms still wrapped around Alex, and slept.


	5. Plans

When Olivia woke again, it was about eight in the morning. Sunlight streamed through the window, avoiding Alex but hitting her square in the face. How that was possible only became more of a mystery as she became more lucid, for it was suddenly apparent that Alex had slept in her arms. Was still sleeping in her arms. Was still in her arms. Shit.

Olivia was torn. She was warm and comfortable in bed, and reluctant to wriggle away from what might be her only opportunity to lie next to the woman she loved without any awkwardness, or, indeed, her only opportunity to lie next to her at all. Alex had turned while they were asleep, and they were curled together in a way which danced on the line between platonic and otherwise. Olivia's right arm was wrapped around Alex's waist, holding her still; her left was between Alex's neck and the bed, her left hand held in Alex's right. How they had managed to stay like this for so long was beyond Olivia. She was not complaining. Even with her head turned away from Alex, every breath in smelled of her, of soap and perfume and warm human. On the other hand, Alex was an intensely private person, who would undoubtedly be deeply humiliated if she were to wake up like this. She was not the sort of woman who liked unexpected intimacy. But Olivia could not quite drag herself away from the bed, away from the missing piece of her life who had swept back into it with a flash of bright blonde hair and straight black glasses without a hint of warning.

And then there was last night. Olivia's heart couldn't help leaping with hope when she thought of Alex's words, addled by exhaustion and fear but truthful all the same. _Love you, Liv. _And of course she loved Alex. _Of course_ she did. How could _anyone_ not? This, she realised, had been the faint, niggling worry at the pit of her stomach. Once she realised it, this was so obvious that it was hardly an epiphany at all - _oh, that_. She had always loved Alex. She had never bothered to fight her way through the specifics of what sort of love it was; she had assumed that Alex felt the same way about her, and that they would merely strip back more and more layers as time went by. She knew that she loved her, and that she would protect her from harm as best she could, and that she would be there to catch Alex when she fell. Nothing beyond that really mattered. Now that they had been physically close, Olivia knew that this was something she would like to have in her life. But it was more important that Alex was happy, because Olivia loved her. As far as she was concerned, loving someone meant trying to make sure that they avoided pain at all junctures.

She memorized every detail of the moment - the way their legs were folded together, the exact angle of her arm across Alex's waist, the way her hair fell across her shoulders - so that she could have one golden memory to hold onto, to take out when she felt particularly lonely or sad, to remind her that once, _once_, she had been someone's something. Then, as gently as she could, she pulled her arm from beneath Alex's neck and sat up. Alex continued to breathe evenly, and Olivia suspected that she would continue to sleep for hours yet. As she left, she closed the shutters, so that the sunlight would not disturb the sleeping figure.

She went and made coffee, and toast, and sat down at her kitchen table to think. The sunlight was beginning to warm the apartment, so she took her breakfast out onto the tiny balcony and watched the city wake up. The air was still but stifling, and down in the streets people were carrying fans and bottled water.

How to help Alex? Olivia could not honestly say that she had any idea even where to start. She could easily find a home for three or four children at once, particularly if they were young and healthy, but thirty was another kettle of fish altogether. Thirty children would require an entire building, even if it were crammed with beds. And the food costs alone would be ruinous, let alone clothing, bedding, some sort of schooling…

She made many phone calls that morning. The first was to Elliot, and his reaction was exactly what Olivia had hoped for.

"I know someone who's trying to sell an old school building in Brooklyn," he said, as soon as she had related the problem. "I can ask if we could borrow it for a while - he owes me one."

"Of course he does," Olivia said, wishing that Alex was awake so that she could share the joke. "El, that's brilliant."

"I aim to please. Is Alex still catatonic?"

"Out like a light," Olivia confirmed.

"I'll come over this evening - I'd like to see her, even if she's bleary-eyed and incomprehensible."

"Oh, she'll be awake by then. See you when I see you."

The next few calls were less successful. Try as she might, she could not persuade Alex's direct superior to tell her anything, even after a long explanation about her rank and authority, and she had equal luck with foster care. By the time she was finished arguing with the third woman in a row to refuse to help her, it was noon and she was starving.

Olivia was staring at her fridge and wondering how she was going to make food out of half a bell pepper and leftover char siu when she heard the shower running. She gave up on lunch, figuring Alex might want to go out anyway, and started another pot of coffee. Alex wandered out half an hour later, damp hair tied up and glasses on.

"Morning," she said. "Is that coffee?"

"Yes. And," Olivia checked her watch, "it's twelve-thirty."

"My apologies. But I slept until noon, as instructed."

Olivia grinned and handed her a mug of coffee. Alex accepted it gratefully and sat down at the kitchen table.

"Did you reach Elliot?" she asked.

Olivia explained about the school building, and her attempts to get ahold of any more information. Alex smiled ruefully at the description of her boss.

"No, he's not the most trusting of men. I'll talk to him on Monday. What about foster care?"

"Crapshoot. They don't want them; certainly not all at once."

"Damn. That was Plan A."

"I figured as much."

They were silent for a while, both thinking hard. Alex sighed and finished her coffee.

"Are you averse to being bought a free lunch?" she asked.

"And there I was thinking that there was no such thing," Olivia said. "You can stay again if you're going to buy food."

Alex smiled. "I can't cook, so I haven't got much choice. Tell me, detective - where can I find good pasta in these parts?"


	6. Truths

**A/N: Just a brief note to thank everyone who has reviewed for their kindness and their time.**

Elliot was pleased to see Alex, even if she was too thin and deathly pale and exhausted-looking, and they spent twenty minutes catching up before getting to why she was back. He listened carefully to her story, a more detailed and less emotional version than the one she had told Olivia, and when she was done he leaned back in his seat.

"What a mess," he said. "Why were you thrown it? I thought you were working rapes."

"I was. But there are only about eight of us out there at the moment, and six of them are French. Of the two available American lawyers, my background fitted the case better than Martin's - he used to be an extortion ADA in Denver. Besides which, the man couldn't tell an infant from an ice cube."

There was a snort of laughter from the kitchen, where Olivia was transferring takeout from bag to plates.

"Does the government not have a plan for these kids?" Elliot asked. Alex shook her head.

"Most of them aren't US citizens. In fact, most of them don't belong to anywhere. If I can get them to New York, it'll be easier to persuade the powers that be to let them stay. I hope."

Olivia came over with the food, and for a while they ate in silence. After a pause, Elliot pointed his chopsticks at Alex.

"Why are you doing this?"

Alex and Olivia exchanged a quick glance, almost subconsciously.

"What else could I do?" Alex said slowly. "I can't leave them to rot in Somalia, not when most of them are Americans by blood. At the moment they're camped out in a UN orphanage in Nairobi, but there isn't space for them there permanently. I didn't know who else to turn to. You find homes for orphaned kids all the time and I thought…well, I suppose I didn't do nearly enough thinking."

"You're doing the right thing," Olivia said. She had gone to get more beer, and touched Alex lightly on the elbow as she sat back down. "This is the only kind thing to do."

"Thanks, Liv." She caught Olivia's eye for a moment, and then neither of them could look away. If Elliot noticed, he was decent enough not to say anything. Either way, he left soon after, touching a hand to Olivia's shoulder in solidarity and nodding amiably to Alex. They watched him leave.

"You alright?" Olivia asked, as they cleared up. Without conferring, they fell into easy collaboration - Olivia washed the dishes, while Alex sorted leftovers. Alex was even quieter than usual.

"Sorry? Oh, yes. I'm fine."

"I don't entirely believe you."

Alex sighed.

"Well, that makes two of us."

Olivia turned around to face Alex, who sighed again and swept her hair away from her face. She was shaking a little.

"What's wrong, Alex? You can trust me."

"I know." But she couldn't make any more words come out of her mouth. Try as she might to form a coherent sentence, her voice refused to cooperate.

Olivia was worried now. She dried off her hands and walked slowly towards Alex, trying to seem calm.

"Is it to do with that nightmare?"

Alex shook her head. She didn't trust herself to speak.

"Can I help?" Olivia asked, reaching out a hand to touch Alex's elbow again.

_Can I help?_ It was moments like this which reminded Alex why she loved Olivia. That unfeigned concern for everyone's wellbeing, and fierce loyalty to those she liked, was one of Olivia's best traits.

"Last night," Alex said, and was shocked to hear how quiet her voice had become. "I…I'm sorry about that."

Olivia shook her head.

"Don't be. I said the same thing last night, but I'll say it again; if you're hurt, that's where I want to be."

Alex had not hallucinated it, then. That was good. Only one thing to do now.

"You said that you loved me."

Olivia did not think. She spoke.

"I said that because it's true."

Alex looked up at her, with that level blue stare which could make even hardened criminals squirm. It was not hard now; it was disbelieving, and hopeful. Olivia looked straight back, and they were equals. As always.

"Oh." It was all Alex could manage, although she was cursing herself for her inarticulateness. This was impossible - wonderful, but completely impossible. With a surge of courage, Olivia put her palm against Alex's cheek.

"Alex? I love you. I always have. I always will."

And she leaned forwards and kissed her.

It was perfect. Alex kissed her back, and Olivia's other hand went to the other side of Alex's face, and Alex could not imagine how this was happening. Her brain, which was usually so quick to deal with emotional issues and file them away, could not process it. So instead, she merely let the experience wash over her, a mixture of delight and surprise and relief. Olivia pulled away, and rested her forehead against Alex's.

"Is this alright?" she asked, and Alex could not help but laugh. Olivia looked relieved at that, and smiled and kissed her again, less gently. The scent which she had not been able to avoid that morning was amplified, and she did not care if Alex did not love her back, for this moment was perfect perfect perfect, and nothing could take that away from her.

They broke apart, but then Alex wrapped her arms around Olivia and suddenly they were hugging, and Alex was laughing again, her sheer joy spilling out as laughter. Olivia had no idea what was going on, but held Alex tighter and smiled into her hair and hoped that this was not the nervous laughter of someone about to flee.

"I'm sorry," Alex said eventually, still refusing to let go of Olivia. "But I missed you so much, Liv. I love you."

Olivia drew back to look her in the eyes. Alex looked straight back.

"Thank God," Olivia said, and then they were both laughing, and then Alex was crying and they both needed to sit down.


	7. Promises

It was midnight. Between them, they had managed enough restraint to put on pajamas, and were now lying in bed, exhausted and thirsty and blissful.

"You ought to sleep," Olivia said. Alex raised an eyebrow, smiling.

"And miss this? I think not."

"We have all of tomorrow. Aren't you jet-lagged?"

"I've learned not to notice time zone. It's not like I slept regular hours when I lived here."

"True." Olivia brushed her fingers across Alex's cheek, and Alex closed her eyes. Such simple intimacy pleased her. She had waited so long…and yet, it was worth it. She did not regret anything.

"When do you go back?" Olivia asked.

"Monday night. Kenya is eight hours ahead, so I'll start working as soon as I land. The UN have a plane ready, so as soon as we can organize it, we'll bring the kids over. And then…" She trailed off.

"And then we'll make it work," Olivia reassured her. "We'll make it up as we go along."

"Thank you. I believe you."

Olivia put her hand against Alex's cheek, and kissed her forehead. A thought struck her.

"Can I come with you?"

Alex opened her eyes and looked straight into Olivia's. Slowly, she smiled.

"I think that's an _excellent_ idea. In what capacity were you thinking of?"

Without warning, Olivia swept forwards and kissed her. It took Alex a second to get over her surprise, but then she was kissing her back, and her hands were on Olivia's neck and Olivia was holding Alex's face in her hands. Olivia rolled so that she was pinning Alex to the bed, and abruptly removed her mouth.

"That capacity," she said, and Alex laughed and lifted her face to be kissed again.

"I love you," Olivia said, when they ran out of air. "I love you so much. And it scares me to think of you in any sort of danger."

"Nairobi isn't dangerous," Alex said, smiling softly.

"Yeah, and camels don't spit and judges like to be woken at three in the morning to sign warrants. Everywhere is dangerous, Alex."

"Well, then. I suppose armed protection courtesy of the NYPD wouldn't _hurt_. I'm sure Cragen can think of someone suitable."

Olivia grinned. "They would need to keep a close eye on you."

"Very close," Alex agreed.

"Perhaps they ought to stay in your room. To make sure no assassins sneak in and slit your throat in the night. Perhaps they should sleep next to you."

"Perhaps so. My house is fairly big, though - I could probably find another room for them."

"What if you had a nightmare? It would need to be someone who knew not to start shooting your furniture if you did."

"That's a good point," Alex said. "I'm very fond of my furniture."

"You would need to trust them," Olivia said, trailing her fingers down Alex's arm, "with your life."

"If they were sleeping next to me, I would need to trust them for a variety of reasons," Alex remarked, and Olivia laughed. "Can you think of anyone who fits that bill?"

"As a matter of fact," Olivia said, leaning in, "I think I know just the woman for that job."

"Oh? Do I know her?"

"I'm _fairly_ sure you do. You've met…oh, a _few_ times."

Alex smiled even wider. "Any of them memorable?"

"The NYPD ball?"

"That _was_ memorable," Alex agreed. "Casey Shraeger was drinking like a fish. And now that you mention it, I do remember someone. Tall, dark, beautiful, oddball sense of humour. Breathtakingly kind. Bizarrely single."

"That sounds like her. Although I heard a rumour that she's been in love with someone for the past ten years; maybe that's why she was still single."

Alex's breath caught in her throat, but she stayed calm."Maybe so. I think I heard that rumour as well - it wasn't her partner she was in love with, was it?"

Olivia pretended to look horrified. "Him? God, no. She cares about him far to much to ruin it like that."

Alex laughed. "I'm glad." She kissed Olivia's jaw. "She sounds perfect."

"She isn't."

"Neither am I."

"You are to me."

Alex kissed her properly.

"I love you. Come with me. Scare the bad guys and help me with the kids and don't shoot my drapes when I have a nightmare."

"I promise. To all of the above."

"Perfect."

Olivia ran her fingers across Alex's mouth.

"If you stay, I stay. If you want to live in Africa, I will find something to do there. And if you decide to come back New York, my home is your home. I never want to lose you again. Unless you want me gone, I never intend to. I love you."

To her embarrassment, Alex felt tears prickling in her eyes. "Thank you. I can't tell you - thank you. No-one has ever-"

"I know. Me neither."

"I don't know-"

"I don't care."

"I can't promise-"

"I don't need you to."

"I love you."

"I know."

Alex let her eyes close, and Olivia kissed her.

"Thank you."

"Sleep now. I'll stay here."

"You'd better."

"Shh."

And because she was tired, and because she could feel Olivia's comforting warmth on her body, and her legs and arms tangled up with Olivia's, and because she trusted that she would not wake up alone as she had this morning, she allowed herself to sleep in Olivia's arms, and leave the hard work of running the universe to someone else.


	8. Flight

Alex left some of her things in Olivia's apartment. Neither of them mentioned it, but Olivia had noticed the small pile of clothes and books which Alex had left on the floor of her bedroom. Olivia couldn't help but hope. Leaving things meant that Alex was coming back.

_Of course she is, you idiot_, her brain said. _She has to come back with the orphans._

But she hoped all the same. Hoped that this was a sign of trust - a sign that this was as important to Alex as it was to her. Olivia was finding it hard to restrain herself: to only kiss Alex when she lifted her face to be kissed; to only run her hands along Alex's waist when she had already stepped towards her; to only say that she loved Alex when it was vaguely relevant. She desperately wanted this to last, and did not want to spook Alex by overdoing it. But it was hard, because she loved her. And after a few days of living together, she knew that this could work out, for they had immediately slipped into the sort of relaxed familiarity Olivia had been hoping for her entire life. There was no awkwardness between them, no unnatural silences. Just two people who had been alone for a very long time, and who were glad to have finally found someone who loved them.

Cragen had agreed to let Olivia take a week off, and could, at a pinch, give her a second - it was not busy at the moment, and Olivia had accrued a ridiculous amount of vacation time. Alex had negotiated with her boss, who was actually a good guy underneath all the coldness, and found a spare seat on the flight back to Nairobi.

They spent most of Monday evening being checked by a variety of security guards.

"You make for a fun date, Alex," Olivia said, as they took off their shoes for the third time.

"Hey, at least I'm original," Alex quipped. "Comfort, good food, wine…it's all _so_ cliched."

They both smiled, and Olivia leaned forwards to tuck a loose curl behind Alex's ear.

"I'd rather be here than anywhere else."

"How sweet. A _blatant_ lie, mind, but I'll forgive you."

Olivia laughed. "Where you go, I go."

"Well, I know _I'd_ prefer to be at some restaurant in Midtown with a glass of bourbon." She yawned hugely. "Or in bed."

Olivia raised her eyebrows, grinning, and Alex rolled her eyes.

"Don't. It's too easy."

They made it onto the plane and settled into their seats. There weren't many passengers at all, and even fewer in first class. Olivia had whistled softly when she had seen the tickets.

"Would you believe that I've never flown first class before?"

"It's the only way to make flying even remotely endurable. You'll never want to fly cattle class again."

"Cattle class? Why, Ms Cabot - I do believe you might be a snob."

Alex had laughed so hard that she had struggled to breathe. It had not been particularly funny, but she had been so worried about everything for so long, and here was a woman who loved her and would make sarcastic jokes to cheer her up and kissed her whenever she lifted her face to be kissed, who would hold her when she had nightmares about being shot and tease her because she had gone to Dalton and Sarah Lawrence and Harvard, and would literally follow her halfway across the world. Here was a woman who was her equal in all things. A woman she loved. So she had laughed, because it was either that or sob with gratitude.

Alex was still reeling. Unlike Olivia, who could cope with anything, Alex was dizzy with happiness. She was intelligent enough to see that Olivia cared about her deeply, although she had never been able to read people very well at all. Alex knew that, disasters aside, they had plenty of time to be together - that there was no need to live and love as if they were going to be separated any moment now. But that was how Alex felt; she had become so used to expecting heartache that the absence of it was incomprehensible. So she kissed Olivia often, unable to believe that her luck would last, not entirely convinced that this was not some glorious dream from which she was about to wake. Alex loved her.

"Alex? Alex, are you alright?"

She had been staring into space, out of the window at the starry night. She snapped back to reality.

"I'm sorry, Liv. It's been a very long couple of days."

"Not unremittingly terrible, I hope?" Olivia asked, lightly.

Alex realized how her comment must have sounded, and winced.

"Not what I meant. They've been intense, but it's good intense. Perfect intense."

The plane began to move, and Alex gripped the armrest tightly. She was not scared to fly, precisely, but she couldn't help being respectfully wary of a machine which broke the laws of physics while powered by diluted rocket fuel. Olivia saw this, and held Alex's hand in her own.

"Distract me," Alex said. She saw the expression of Olivia's face, and laughed despite herself. "Talk, I mean."

Olivia cast about her brain for an appropriately distracting topic.

"OK. Tell me - who was the last person you slept with?"

Alex raised her eyebrows and smiled. "How charmingly indiscreet. You."

Olivia rolled her eyes, grinning. "Before that."

"Lana Sokol."

"Tell me about her."

"Oh, well played, Liv; this is embarrassing enough to distract anyone."

"Surely you aren't scared of _my_ opinion," Olivia said, smiling.

"No, I suppose not. OK - Lana Sokol. Owns Sokol Shipping. My height, heavier than me, brown hair, blue eyes, round face, very sharp in business, not brilliant in bed, she called it off, I work too much."

"Smooth."

"Thank you."

"Can I get you anything to drink?" The air hostess smiled politely at them. Olivia frowned slightly as Alex poured out gin and tonic.

"What?" Alex asked.

"Nothing," Olivia said. "Just…the smell of quinine."

"Bad memories?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. I could make a gin and tonic before I could make a cup of tea."

Alex could not think of any way to respond to that, so instead she grasped Olivia's hand tighter.

"Thanks. I didn't-"

"You don't have to. There." Alex drank all of the gin and tonic in one swift movement, then ate a mint. "Problem solved."

"Thank you, Alex."

"Just say the word."

The lights turned out, and under the cover of darkness, Olivia felt safe enough to lean across and kiss Alex. Surprised, Alex kissed her back.

"You are a supremely good person, Alex Cabot. I missed you."

Although they had spent the last four days within twenty feet of each other, Alex knew exactly what she meant.

"I missed you, too."

And she had.


	9. Home

Olivia had seen plenty of the world. She had brought news of death and violence to everyone, from street vendors living in slum housing, barely making enough money to stay alive, to the ritziest high society doyennes whose husbands had been sliced into ribbons by their vindictive mistresses. She had always lived in the middle - middling job, middling apartment, middling expectation of security. Middle class, middle height, middle weight. She had worked most every day since she was twenty-one years old, and the vast majority of that time had been spent on the job. Despite all this, she could honestly say that she had never seen anything quite like Alexandra Cabot's house.

They had been met by a driver at the airport. Olivia tried to hide her surprise, but Alex didn't seem to find anything particularly unusual. The driver took their bags, and Alex nodded coolly to him.

"Makazi, tafadhali."

They swept through Nairobi, out of the busier central district into long, tree-lined boulevards.

"Where are we headed?" Olivia asked, trying, and failing, to contain her curiosity.

"Karen."

"A person?"

"A place. Karen is a district."

Olivia rolled her eyes, and Alex smiled.

"Of course it is."

The houses were hidden by the trees, which cast cool shadows over the road. Even inside the car, which was air-conditioned, Olivia was sweltering, and was impressed, as always, by Alex's cool. She was making notes on a yellow legal pad, her hair still knotted into perfect neatness at the nape of her neck, not a curl out of place.

They pulled into a drive, and suddenly a house came into view.

"Alex? Al-ex?"

Alex snapped out of her reverie, and blushed a little.

"Oh, hi, Liv. Sorry."

"Did you not think to mention that we're staying in a hotel?"

Alex looked confused. "We're not. I live here."

Olivia did an exagerrated double take, and Alex laughed. They got out of the car and began to walk up the drive.

"Who else lives here?"

Alex looked at Olivia, and saw that she was serious.

"No-one, Liv. The driver and housekeeper sleep in the gatehouse. I live alone."

Olivia was quiet for a while. She looked at the porch, which swept all the way around the house, and at the lawn, which, even as the air was so hot and dry that it hurt to breathe, was an almost unnaturally bright green, and, as they walked into the house itself, the heavy wooden furniture. She didn't say anything, but followed Alex out onto the back veranda. A tall, handsome woman came out with a tray of tea things.

"Alex?" Olivia said, finally.

"Liv."

"How rich are you, exactly?"

Alex couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing. Her entire life, people had been wondering this about her. Evaluating her shoes and jewellery and clothing, her accent, her education and her manners, adding up her expenditure and guessing at her income. This was the way civilized people did it. Asking outright was the absolute height of rudeness, rendering the asker worthy of being cut from all decent society, or at least reprimanded severely by their own families. No-one had ever asked this question of Alex. Not even Robert, whose manners were impeccable, if dull. The only people who knew the contents of bank account were her father and her fund manager.

But how was Olivia supposed to know how rude her question was? She was not from Alex's world. She did not have the support of a wealthy father, nor the comfortable safety net of a trust fund. And while Alex had lived in this house without even thinking very hard about it, she suddenly realized that it would be considered by most people quite a large place for one person to live by herself.

"Quite rich," Alex said, and Olivia grinned. Alex poured them both tea. "Milk? Lemon?"

"Lemon?"

"Clearly not." Alex handed Olivia the cup of tea, and suppressed a laugh at the image of tough, beautiful Olivia sitting on her veranda, trying not show up their class difference. She was not designed for tea and sewing and pointless conversation. Twenty minutes in the world of Alex's childhood would drive Olivia insane.

"You can relax, you know. I won't think less of you for putting your feet on the table."

Olivia smiled, but still sat awkwardly. Alex rolled her eyes, kicked off her own shoes, and put her feet on the table next to the tea tray. Olivia laughed then, and Alex leaned over and kissed her.

"Please relax, Liv."

"Yes, ma'am," Olivia said, and grinned and kissed her back.

Later, they were sitting in Alex's library. Alex was sorting through a stack of mail and memos her assistant had dropped off that afternoon. Olivia was reading the original file on the Somali orphanage. They were sitting on the same chaise longue, Alex's head rested against Olivia's jaw, Olivia's arm around Alex's shoulders. It was a companionable silence, until Alex suddenly made a little noise of surprise.

"What?"

"I had my assistant check the backgrounds of the children - it's been taking forever, the orphanage's records were a shambles. Look at this."

Olivia rested her head on Alex's shoulder, pressing her front against Alex's back. She could easily have read the memo before, but she couldn't resist.

_Ms Cabot,-_

"Your assistant still calls you Ms Cabot? After six months?"

Alex rolled her eyes. "Keep reading, Liv."

_- on discovering the name of one of the orphans, it has become apparent that she is an American citizen. Hope this is helpful. _

Alex twisted in Olivia's arms to look her in the eyes. Olivia could see the hope and excitement in Alex's eyes.

"I'm guessing from your expression that citizenship _is_ helpful, because I know _absolutely nothing _about international law. _Nothing_."

Alex laughed and closed the tiny distance between them, and felt the worry and unhappiness and tension which had dogged her for so long ease, and then dissipate clean away.


	10. Care

As much as Alex wanted to go barreling in and fix things immediately, it was by this point nearly eleven at night.

"No-one will thank you for waking them up," Olivia said, and Alex had to agree. "Let's get some sleep. We can save the world in the morning."

"This, from Captain Impetuous!" Alex teased.

Olivia swatted at her, grinning. "Who has ever dared to call _me_ impetuous? I'd eat them."

"QED. You're right, though - I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, immune to time zones my ass."

Alex poured them both heavy-handed glasses of bourbon, and they went to bed.

"Remind me why we're drinking?" Olivia said, as she followed Alex through the maze of corridors. "Mm. Wow. Not that I'm complaining or anything. This is _really_ good."

"Well, I'm _quite_ rich. It has its advantages."

She opened a door, and Olivia tried very hard not to stare at anything.

"No kidding," she said.

Alex caught the expression on Olivia's face. She thought about what she was going to do, and, to induce courage, downed all of her drink.

"You did not just do that," Olivia said, as Alex blinked and put her - now empty - glass on the dresser.

"I did."

"Care to fill me in on why?"

In three steps, Alex had her arms around Olivia's waist. She kissed her, hard, and Olivia kissed her back, not bothering to wonder what the hell was going on anymore. Not caring. Because Alex's hands were underneath her shirt, and because her own hand, the one which wasn't holding the bourbon, was in Alex's hair, and because she was tired of sleeping alone and tired of pretending to be someone she wasn't and so deliriously happy to be here, halfway across the planet from the only place she had ever lived and yet home. Because here was the most beautiful woman she had ever known, kissing her as if the end of the world was coming, as if they had no time to go slowly. Or perhaps merely no inclination. Kissing her, and unbuttoning her shirt at the same time.

"Hang on," Olivia said, and untangled herself. The expression on Alex's face was so sad and so embarrassed that Olivia leaned in and kissed her again. "Bourbon."

Now Alex was laughing, more than slightly relieved, as Olivia tried to mimic her and drank all of her alcohol in one go. She dropped the glass to the floor, which, luckily, had a rug covering the bare boards, and wrapped her arms around Alex and kissed her just as fiercely as she had been kissed. It was as if someone had lit her on fire, for her stomach and mouth and legs burned. She held Alex's face steady between her hands, and kissed her jaw and neck between kissing her mouth, and felt as if her blood had become liquid fire.

They fell onto the bed in an incoherent tangle of limbs, and began to laugh. The fact that they laughed so often was one of the things which made Olivia so hopeful. Or so she told herself. She would tell herself anything at this point if it would let her keep hoping that this would last, because she could not imagine going back now. She had let herself cross a line into another life, one where the first thing she saw in the morning and the last thing she saw at night was Alex's face, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Not dissimilar, in fact, from her expression now, although that sleepy nighttime Alex tended not to be removing her clothing.

Olivia rolled so that she was pinning Alex to the bed, and kissed her again.

"I love you." That sharp blue gaze fell on her face, scrutinising her expression. It found sincerity, and hope. And love. "That's the truth. And I'm not so great with words, so I-"

Alex cut her off by kissing her. Olivia ran her hands down Alex's sides, and rested them at her waist.

"Don't leave me," Alex said, as they took a second to catch their breath.

"What? Of course-"

"I mean it. Don't leave me. Because I can't imagine any way forward without you, and that's very dangerous if you're planning to disappear."

"Never," Olivia said, and looked Alex straight in the eyes. "Under no circumstances will I leave your side. Not if you are hurt or sick or tired. Not if you are ashamed to tell anyone. Not unless you want me gone. I will not abandon you."

Alex reached up and put her hand on Olivia's cheek, mirroring their first kiss. "In which case, I shall take you up on that offer. I will come home. And we shall make up for lost time and pretend that we have been together for far longer than we have, because I cannot be doing with six months of dating and sleeping alone five nights a week and being coy about the fact that I love you. That would be tiresome. I feel fortunate every time I see you, and sad when you are gone. It is that straightforward for me."

Olivia merely looked at her for a moment, not daring to breathe. And then she burst into tears.

"Not quite the reaction I was going for, Liv," Alex said lightly, and Olivia laughed the hiccoughing laughter of crying. She leaned down and kissed Alex as warmly as she could, and Alex smiled against her mouth and kissed her back.

"I have been so worried." Olivia was spitting out the words between sobs. "That you - that this -"

"Shh. I know. I'm sorry. I didn't want to jinx it. And I thought maybe you were being kind, offering your apartment and your protection. You have got quite the track record for stupendous acts of insane altruism, you know."

Olivia laughed again, which was what Alex had been trying for. "You know that I'm not good at abandoning the people I love," she said, her voice a little calmer but still ragged. "I followed my reprobate half-brother halfway across the country, and the only tie between us was a rapist father."

"And breakfast cereal," Alex said dryly. "That stunt impressed and horrified me in equal measure."

"Well, that's who I am. And that won't be changing."

"Apart from the fact that it is yet another opportunity to show off your _terrifying_ habit of throwing yourself headlong into mortal peril, that's very good to hear."

"I'm glad."

And, having sorted out the rest of their lives, they felt no inclination not to finish what they had started.


	11. Introductions

In the bright sunshine of the early morning, Nairobi rose red and black against the orange sky. Alex was reading and making notes in the back of the car, humming quietly to herself and looking as pristinely calm as she always seemed to Olivia. They swept away from the residential district into what seemed to be endless teeming slums, and then into an area which, in its dirty elegance, could almost pass for the rougher end of New York.

The car stopped in front of a skyscraper like any other, and they got out.

"You work here?"

Alex shrugged noncommittally. "Here or the courts. More often the courts. I like it better there."

"Why?"

"The air conditioning works consistently."

Olivia grinned. They took the elevator up to the fifth floor, and navigated a maze of corridors. Alex was still reading. She seemed to be making her way through the building on autopilot, but she didn't miss a single turn.

"Alexandra."

Alex finally looked up from her her files, and smiled.

"Manon."

The speaker was a tall woman, with long dark hair and patrician features. She was dressed as perfectly as Alex was, in a dark suit and high heels, and just looking at her was making Olivia feel uncomfortably warm. Manon smiled and kissed Alex's cheek.

"You disappear for a week without telling anyone where you have gone, and then you return with a beautiful woman. Are you sure you aren't French?"

Even Olivia laughed at that, and Alex rolled her eyes.

"Liv, my colleague, Manon Bertrand. Manon, my…Olivia Benson."

"Pleasure to meet you, Alex's Olivia," Manon said, and Olivia laughed again. "What brings you to Nairobi?"

"It's a long story," Alex and Olivia said in unison.

"That's very - _zut_! I have court. We will have lunch."

Manon dashed past them, turning around to smile as she disappeared from sight.

"Are all of your colleagues that much fun?" Olivia asked, and Alex grinned.

"Most of them aren't that French," she said. "Come on. My office is this way."

They turned another corner, and then Alex juggled her files and keys for a moment before opening the door.

"You know that this looks exactly the same as your office at home?" Olivia said, as they walked inside.

"Less books," Alex said. "All my American Law books are at home. Sit, sit. I'll be five minutes."

Olivia sat down on the couch and began to read Alex's coffee table book.

"Alex!"

A red-and-turquoise blur flew past Olivia and threw itself at Alex. Once it stopped moving, the blur settled into the shape of a woman in an electric blue dress, whose reddish-brown hair fell to her waist in bright curls. From over the woman's shoulder, Alex rolled her eyes at Olivia, and Olivia grinned back, relieved.

"Aurélie, I have been gone for a week, not a year," Alex said, in immaculate French. "And I hope you have good news."

"Oh, it's all abysmal," Aurélie said cheerfully. "The UN orphanage want to get rid of your children immediately."

"_Fantastique_."

Alex detached herself from the younger woman, who was beaming at her, and turned to Olivia.

"Aurélie Laurent. And she's always like this."

"Can I help you?" Aurélie asked. "Oh, hello! Who are you?"

Olivia extended her hand, which Aurélie held in both of hers and shook vigourously. "Olivia. I'm a friend of Alex's."

"She speaks French! What are you - Czech? Hungarian?"

"American."

"American!"

Alex went to stand next to Olivia. "You _can_ help me, Aurelie. Find Emilie for me and sent her in here."

"No problem, Alex!" She left.

Olivia turned to Alex, grinning. "How do you deal with _that_ every day?"

"You get used to the exuberance. She's actually very sharp."

Olivia raised her eyebrows, and Alex laughed, kissed her quickly, and went back to collect her papers.

Twenty minutes later, Olivia had taken her shoes off and had her feet up on the arm of Alex's couch. She was reading Alex's copy of _The Complete Works of Emily Dickinson _and eating the boiled candy Alex kept on her coffee table. Alex came to sit next to her.

"OK. We're done. I need you to sign here, here and here."

"No problem. What am I agreeing to?"

Alex laughed and handed her a pen.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Oh, I'm happy to sign anything you present me with. I'm just curious."

"Of course you are. Right. This one gives you temporary guardianship."

"Really?"

"Well, _no_, but the real explanation is so complicated it made my head hurt, and I have a JD from Harvard. It gives you temporary guardianship. Sign in the box."

Olivia grinned and signed her name. "Next?"

"Power of attorney if anything happens to me."

"What?"

"Calm down, I'm not asking you this as a…whatever the hell we are."

"Not touching that."

"Me either." They both smiled. "It's because I'm the other name on the first form."

"Ah. OK." She signed it. "And then?"

"This one says the UN trusts you." Olivia raised her eyebrows again. "Sort of. Again, JD from Harvard. Just sign the damn thing."

"Miss Cabot?"

Alex and Olivia both looked up, to see two people in the doorway. One was a man about Olivia's age, with short black hair and intelligent green eyes. The other was a woman of around twenty-five, with a crown of black braids.

"Miss Cabot, the car is waiting for you."

"Thank you, Emilie. Liv, if you would…"

They took the elevator, while Alex made more introductions.

"My assistant Emilie Hansen, my colleague Martin Taylor, Olivia Benson. How's your case going?"

Martin shrugged. "The tapes are in, the search is out. So not brilliantly. Yours?"

"I'm about to try and ship thirty kids under the age of thirteen from Nairobi to New York in the space of two days and then find them all homes within two months, with only a pair of NYPD detectives and an overworked, underpaid assistant to help me."

There was a pause.

"Going well, then."

"Peachy. I live for cases like this."

They bade Martin goodbye, and the three of them got into the car. Emilie sat in the front. Alex was still reading and making notes, but every so often she would look up, as if to check that Olivia was still there. And she was. Every time.

Alex dictated notes to Emilie as they drove. The orphanage was halfway across town, so they had plenty of time to draw up papers, make calls, drink Perrier and batt ideas between them. The only part of this Olivia took part was the drinking - she was a long way out of her league in terms of legal knowledge. But she liked to be next to Alex, listening to her do what she did best. She found expertise enjoyable to watch in almost any direction.

They pulled up outside a dilapidated old mansion. The paint on the porch was peeling, the roof tiles looked distinctly shaky, and the surrounding houses were equally shabby. And in every inch of porch space, and dangling out of the windows, and pouring across the sun-bleached lawn, were children. Babies in makeshift bassinets made from baskets and skinny kids playing stickball; older children, themselves no more than teenagers, looked after the younger ones.

Olivia thought her heart might break.


	12. Infant

Alex and Olivia got out of the car, followed by Emilie, juggling files and phones and bottled water.

Kids swarmed around them, curious, and Olivia's heart hurt. Some of them were badly scarred or beaten up, and all of them were too thin. But they were still _kids_ - still hopeful that these three smartly-dressed, well-fed women were about to take off their photographer jackets and play stickball. They shouted out in Swahili, and although Olivia didn't have a single word of the language, it was not hard to guess what they were asking for; attention, affection, food. There must have been sixty children just on the lawn, and more crowded the porch. Others were visible in the windows. Olivia did some quick math in her head, and figured that even if each of the four floors of this colonial monster of a house had six bedrooms, the children would be five to a room, if not more. Alex drew herself up to her considerable height, closed off her heart, and pushed through the crowds, up the porch steps, and into the cool interior. Olivia had reached for her hand, ostensibly not to become separated, but in reality to give herself a fighting chance of getting through the next half hour; she had never been more grateful for her presence.

Inside, there were fewer children and more adults. Emilie, who was clearly some sort of translator as well as an assistant, was having a conversation in what Olivia assumed was lightspeed Swahili. Alex, who seemed to have some grasp of the language, had turned away to face Olivia, and each read the expression on the other's face. They were identical mixtures of shock, pity and sadness. Olivia squeezed Alex's hand, and Alex nodded in silent thanks.

"Miss Alissandra Cabot?"

"Alexandra, but yes."

A man of about fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair and dark blue eyes, shook her hand. He had a slight accent, but he otherwise reminded both Alex and Olivia very strongly of Jack McCoy.

"James Farkas. Please, come into my office."

They followed him away from the lobby and into a study which looked as if it hadn't been redecorated since the British left East Africa, all dark wood and animal heads.

"How are they doing?" Alex asked, her voice cool.

"All but two are healthy. One boy has severe head trauma, and has been sent to the International Hospital."

"How bad is it?"

"He could die. I suggest he stays."

"I agree. What about the other?"

Such starkness. Olivia was, as always, stunned by Alex's ability to deal calmly with chaos and heartbreak.

"A girl, six. She has had an infection, but she's getting over it."

Alex nodded. "Good. Talk to me about the American."

"She's seven months old-"

Despite herself, Olivia had to bite her tongue to stop from crying out. Seven _months_?

"- and mixed race. Your people found her birth certificate in amongst that rat's nest of a building. She was born in DC, to Camille and David Cohen. They moved out here not long after her birth, but she's one of yours, Miss Cabot."

"Can we see her? She's the lynchpin to this case."

Farkas nodded and barked orders to an assistant, who scurried away.

"How much longer are you intending to keep them here? Because we need the beds."

Alex's already icy gaze cooled a further few degrees. Under the table, Olivia reached for her hand, only to find Alex's own hand stretching towards hers.

"No more than a few days," she said. "I have enlisted the assistance of my associate to make for a smooth transition."

"You have the relevant paperwork, I assume?"

"Of course. I've marked up the forms. All I need is your signature."

There was a silent pause, in which Farkas signed a ridiculous number of papers. Olivia felt somewhat useless, although she knew that she was fulfilling both of her duties at this moment; to protect Alex from bodily harm, and to provide moral support. Is anyone tried to hurt Alex, they would have to go through her. Their hands were still held.

Just as Olivia's feet were falling to sleep, an assistant returned, an infant in her arms. She paused at the doorway, but Farkas lifted a lazy hand and beckoned her in.

"Your lynchpin," he said. The assistant handed the baby to Olivia, and once again, she felt her heart breaking. She was tiny, far smaller than any normal American seven-month-old, with black curls and brown eyes.

"She has a name, presumably?" Alex said, handing Farkas yet another form to sign.

"Sophie. There. Is that all?"

Alex checked, twice, but she was done.

"We will return within three days to remove the children. Please have them ready to leave when we arrive."

Olivia reluctantly handed Sophie back to Farkas, who held her with surprising delicacy, and they left. Emilie remained behind to organise further arrangements, so Olivia and Alex travelled back to the house alone. Alex did not wish to give her driver a source of gossip, but she needed some reassurance that the world had some good in it. Olivia held her hand, rubbing her thumb across her fingers. They both sat slightly twisted in their seats, so that they could look each other in the eyes.

Although it was only noon, Olivia was exhausted. Every child in that house had lost their parents - some were so young that they would have no memories of them. Even her remarkably shitty childhood was better than that. Her mother, while an unpredictable drunk, was, at least some of the time, a good mom. She had a few fond memories to hold between her hands. Coming downstairs on a Saturday morning to see that a sandwich, her favourite, with pastrami and pickle and mustard, was waiting on the counter (even though the woman herself would not be up for another four hours) because she knew that Olivia had to eat. Painting their fingernails together, even though Olivia could not have cared less about her appearance at aged twelve, but laughing and dancing around the room to help the paint dry. Reading together in December with their socked feet on the portable heaters and quilts wrapped around them, because the central heating had broken. There were many, many bad memories, but there were good ones in there as well, and, although Olivia knew that she had been a constant reminder of the worst thing that had ever happened to her mother, she also knew that Serena had loved her, in the only way a twisted, depressed alcoholic could. Olivia hoped with all her heart that they could do something to help anyone who was in a worse situation than that.

Alex had been watching Olivia's face as the thoughts flashed through her mind, and although she was unusually bad at reading people, she thought she knew what Olivia was thinking. She made a silent promise to herself that she would be a beacon of solidarity for Liv - a pillar of strength, against which even the most stubborn and spirited of people might lean for a little while. Alex loved her. She did not need explanations, or painful reminiscences. She would listen if she wanted to talk, and merely sit close, quiet and tranquil, if she did not. It was the least she could do for the woman who had been so good to her, and whom she had loved, so much, for so very, very long.


	13. Thoughts

They ate dinner out on the porch, and watched the sunset. It was far more spectacular than anything New York could offer at this time of year, all blazing oranges and shell-pinks, and for a while they were content to merely enjoy it in silence. They were comfortable around each other - Alex felt no compulsion to fill the gaps with polite conversation, although to do so had been drilled into her since childhood, and Olivia was, by nature, fairly terse. The food was good, the wine excellent, the view spectacular and the company perfect. Alex felt at peace. She could imagine enjoying a simple, sunny existence like this; all she needed from the universe was Olivia. And after the last decade, in which she had ping-ponged between loneliness, misery, exhaustion and heartbreak with only the briefest of respites, she thought that the universe owed her as much. Perhaps the next decade could be filled with more pleasant things. More books, more good food, more comfortable shoes, more television and more sleep. More trust and more family. More love. And most of all, more Olivia.

They had gone careening into a relationship, and yet it felt as if they had been together for years, not days. In some ways, they had. There was no getting-to-know-you phase that they had to battle through, no disparity in their feelings for one another, no _drama_. Just two people who were complete in themselves, but who cared deeply about each other. They were equals. It was the sort of relationship Olivia had wanted her entire life. Her beauty and her strength and her sheer _brilliance_ of personality meant that she was very good at the intense first month of a relationship, and her work and her background and her _abysmal_ taste in lovers meant that she was not often given the opportunity to try anything else. And she loved Alex - had loved her, in a way that she had not examined, for as long as she had known her. It was the kind of unselfish love that had very little to do with the intense physical connection between them. Although Olivia could not say that part was unwelcome either.

"Do you think there's space for me in New York?" Alex asked, as the sun began to dip behind the trees.

"How literally are we talking here? Because I'll be the first to admit my apartment's a rathole that I've been trying to get rid of for months, and you might struggle to find enough space for all of your things. You being quite rich, and all. Any more abstract than that, you'll have to be clearer."

Alex smiled. "That's useful to know, but it isn't what I meant. Although, being quite rich, and all, it wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility that I might want to buy an apartment."

"And it would't be beyond the realm of possibility that I might want to put my measly little sum of money towards that apartment as well."

"That would be good," Alex said, still smiling. "I would like that."

"If you mean, 'Do I still have a job with Jack McCoy?', then I might struggle to give you an answer. Hey, you could run against him next term - how's that for a solution?"

Olivia was grinning, and Alex rolled her eyes.

"Hmm, likely. Back in the real world, what do I do if I'm not a prosecutor?"  
"There's this thing called the defense…"

Alex laughed and swatted at her. "_Thank you_, Liv."

"I'm told it pays better."

"Yes, and starving as I am-"

"The hours are more reasonable. You might help innocent people."

"I might help scumbags who deserve to rot in jail."

Olivia grinned. "You could deliberately throw all the guilty cases. You'd be doing the same thing you do now, only with better results."

"As much as I'm sure the Bar Committee would _love_ what you're planning to do with the criminal justice system, that seems impractical. But quite seriously, Liv, the only thing I've ever been is a prosecutor. And I enjoy it."

"What are your options? Couldn't you just coast by on your _quite rich_ness for a while until a space at the DA's turns up?"

That was an idea Alex liked, and said so, and kissed Olivia to prove her point. Olivia smiled against her mouth.

"You knew you kept me around for some reason," she said, as they moved from table to couch. The sky was turning deep purple.

"If I remember correctly, it was to be scary and not to shoot my drapes," Alex said. Olivia laughed.

"I haven't shot so much as a cushion. Aren't you pleased?"

"Oh, delighted."

They settled, Alex's back against Olivia's front.

"Do you want children?" Olivia asked, with no preamble.

Alex would turn to face her, but she was supremely comfortable, and, actually, it was probably easier to have this conversation not face-to-face. "Yes."

"Why haven't you?"

Alex shrugged. "No-one to have them with, no time to have them by myself. No respectable husband to present to my family and say, 'Look, the father of my children'. If I had married Robert, I imagine I would have at least one blonde, blue-eyed baby by now for my parents to spoil, and probably two. Their names would already be on the Dalton wait list."

Olivia smiled into Alex's hair, but her words had tugged at her heart.

"Do you wish you had? Married Robert, I mean?"

"God, no. How would I be here with you if I had married him?"

"You wouldn't."

"Precisely."

There was a pause as Alex turned awkwardly in her seat to kiss Olivia, briefly, on the mouth. Olivia wrapped her arms around Alex's shoulders and waist, and they settled again.

"I know you have wanted a child," Alex said quietly.

"I still do."

"Why is that?"

Olivia sighed.

"My life is not a bad one," she said. "It is not perfect, and I have spent too much of it without having someone to love, but it is not bad. But I know that I would be a better mother than my on mother was. I would love any child of mine so fiercely that no-one would dare hurt it, and I just think…" She trailed off. Alex nodded silently, and Olivia felt such a wave of gratitude towards her for understanding. They allowed themselves a moment of sadness, and then left it aside.

"So, are your parents going to disown you?" Olivia said, lightly.

"Why would they?" Alex said.

"I'm not 'a respectable husband'."

Alex relaxed a little."Oh. Unlikely. My mother's been dead these past seven years. _She_ would have exploded. But my father was a Democrat before he married her; the Cabot black sheep. Positively _liberal_ in his views, and studiously avoided politics for that exact reason. And when my Uncle Bill's daughter's husband turned out to be gay, he was amused rather than appalled. So I think my fortune is safe."

"I'm glad," Olivia said. "And I don't have any family to disapprove of you, so we're safe."

"You have Elliot. He's your family. He loves you."

"He does," Olivia agreed. "And we know _he_ likes you, so there's still no issue."

"I don't know that 'like' is quite the right word for our relationship," Alex said, and heard the smile in Olivia's voice.

"Perhaps not. But he won't disown me for loving you."

Alex smiled at that. "It does seem unlikely. And I love you."

"Well then, disasters aside, I think we're going to be alright."

Alex twisted again to look Olivia in the eyes, and smiled at her. She smiled back, and kissed her lightly.

"Do you know what? I think you might just be right."


	14. Night

When Olivia awoke, it was the middle of the night. The dim moonlight filtered through the windows half-heartedly, and she could only catch slices of the room. It quickly became apparent what had woken her.

Alex was sat up, her back against the headboard, and was clearly trying very hard not to shake; her breath came in ragged gasps, thick with fear. Olivia had always been a light sleeper, a victim of chronic insomnia, and surprise that she had woken at such a minor noise was not amongst the sudden swirl of emotions she was hit by. But worry was.

Olivia sat up next to Alex, then hugged her as tightly as she could. She could feel Alex shaking in her arms, and tried to hold her still, to give her a chance to calm down.

"Shh. Hey, it's me. It's me. You're home."

"I know," Alex said, her voice muffled against Olivia's shoulder.

"Good. Breathe, OK?"

Alex's breath was already much steadier. "I'm alright."

Olivia's relief hit her hard.

"I'm not. Give me a second."

She stroked the ends of Alex's hair, which was still not the length she imagined it. Alex put her own arms around Olivia's waist, and they stayed wrapped together until they were both breathing evenly again.

"My God," Olivia said, as they moved apart. "Nightmare?"

Alex nodded. Strands of hair fell across her eyes, and Olivia reached over to tuck them behind her ears.

"Same nightmare?"

Alex nodded again.

"How long have you been having them?"

"Since I was shot," Alex said quietly. "Since I looked up at your face and saw that you thought I was dying."

"Didn't _you_ think you were dying?"

"Oddly, no. It was the most surreal experience of my life. I could feel my blood seeping out and your hands on my shoulder, and I could hear everything you said and what made me terrified wasn't the blood so much as the fact that you were crying. I knew it had to be serious if _you_ were crying - _you_ - the strongest person I have ever known. I guess I was in shock, because I don't remember being scared or pleading with a deity or having my life flash before my eyes. Mainly I remember being confused because you were suddenly acting as if you were in love with me. And then I was delighted, because I had been hopelessly in love with you for years."

"Clearly the shock addled your brain," Olivia said, and Alex smiled. "If you'd been halfway sane, you'd do what any normal person does when they get shot."

"And what would that be?"

"Swear. Loudly."

Alex laughed, which had been Olivia's object. "I will remember that for future reference."

"Oh, no. You're never going to get shot, ever, ever again."

"You can't guarantee that, Liv."

"I can bloody well try."

Alex rested her forehead against Olivia's, and put her hand against her cheek.

"What about you, Captain Impetuous? When we go home? Every time you leave, it will pass though my mind that I might never see you again."

"Well, then. I shall be sure to tell you that I love you every time I leave. That's as good as I can do."

"I'll take it," Alex said.

There was a pause as Olivia kissed her, and they lay back down.

"What happened after I left?" Alex asked. "I imagined it a few times, but I probably didn't get it right. And what happened to my things in my office? I was given Casey's old office when I came back, and Jack said that someone had collected my books and photographs. I meant to ask you about it, but we were so busy, I forgot."

Olivia smiled wistfully.

"That was me. I kept them for when you came back. I was so sure you would come back, once I knew you weren't dead. I spent a few months being miserable, but then I decided to be as strong as I could so that if you came back a drivelling mess I could help you."

Alex laughed again, and Olivia kissed her.

"But then when you did come back, you were fine. And I felt so guilty for thinking that you would need my help."

Alex shook her head.

"That 'fine' was the result of an affair with a subordinate, a disastrous engagement and two years of therapy. I was _very _screwed up. But I like your assumption that I would come back to you. I like it a lot."

"You weren't around to remind me that you would never stoop so low as to need me."

Alex smiled. "No stooping required. You're taller than me."

"I love you," Olivia said. "Have done since…oh, since the first time you came out for drinks with us, and you turned around to look at me…"

"Oh, _yes_."

"…and you were so _beautiful_, and you wanted to talk to _me_."

"Why on earth wouldn't I? I had overanalysed everything by that point, of course, and decided, on balance, that falling in love with you would be a _very bad idea indeed. _And that was the first time my heart ever ignored what my head had decided, and I went out of my way to see you. My head was screaming at me to stop, to say no and stay objective, impartial. But I failed. I fell in love with you. I wanted to make you respect me, so I did stupid, reckless things that had Nora, and then Branch, threatening to do a Southerlyn."

" 'Do a Southerlyn?' " Olivia asked, grinning.

"Throw me out without any warning," Alex said. "Abbie dubbed it."

"How do know Abbie? I never asked."

"Her office was next to mine. One time, I was still at my desk at midnight, and she must have seen my light on because she came in, all Southern and sarcastic, and decided she was going to befriend me. I'd only been an ADA for a week and a half; it was very helpful to have her to point out the obvious mistakes."

"Gosh, weren't we doing that?" Olivia said, mock-horrified.

Alex laughed and swatted at her. "No, I definitely knew when I'd _made_ a mistake. But sometimes Abbie could help me _before_ I did something stupid, which was infinitely more useful."

They fell quiet for a while, and Alex tucked her head into the curve of Olivia's neck.

"You alright?" Olivia asked.

"Yes. And - hey! - you didn't shoot anything. Kudos to you."

Olivia laughed softly and kissed Alex's head. "I'll try to keep that up. Let's try to get through this trip with no death and no gunshots."

"Amen," Alex said. They were on the verge of sleep, still companionably curled together, when Alex's phone rang. Both women groaned, and Alex reached blindly for it.

"Alexandra Cabot. Do you know what time it is?"

Olivia made no effort to suppress her grin. Alex's matching smile slid off her face like ice off a tin roof as the voice on the other end continued to speak.

"No. No, that's not right. How? But - Alright. We'll be right there."

Alex snapped her phone shut, and turned to Olivia with a look of pure exhaustion. Olivia sighed.

"Oh, I'm not going to like this."


	15. Pain

Alex ran her hand through her hair and sighed.

"That was Emilie. Farkas wants us. Now."

Olivia raised her eyebrows.

"At," she checked her watch, "four-thirty in the morning?"

"I don't know either. Come on. I need your help eviscerating the idiot."

They dressed quickly, grabbed Alex's attache, hurried out of the door and headed across town, not bothering to wake Alex's driver. Nighttime Nairobi was quieter than nighttime New York, and they made it to the rickety old mansion in astonishingly good time.

"Mr Farkas."

He was standing on the porch steps, waiting for them.

"Miss Cabot. Please, come indoors."

Alex stood at her full height and, with Olivia at her side, swept inside. They were lead to the same colonial drawing room.

"Mr Farkas, this better be very good indeed."

"Aisha is gone."

Alex, who had been pacing around the room, stopped so abruptly that she nearly fell. Olivia caught her, and, discreetly, held her upright.

"Aisha Yassin?"

"What do you mean, _gone_?"

"She's _nine_."

Farkas held up his hands, and both Alex and Olivia closed their mouths.

"We went to check on them, saw an empty bed. Ran a register. Aisha Yassin was the only one missing. We locked the place down, but the girl was gone. We leaned on her close friend, who said she wanted to go home. That she had a bus ticket."

Olivia could almost feel the waves of icy fury radiating from Alex. She was sure that her own anger was much more obvious.

"Mr Farkas," Alex said, her voice taught with suppressed rage, "you were entrusted with the care of these children. You have failed in that duty. How _dare_ you be so careless as to lose such precious cargo? How _dare_ you? You _bastard_. I-"

"Alex." Olivia said. Her hands were still on Alex's elbow and waist, and she could feel her shaking. She turned to Farkas. "You. How long ago was this?"

"Half an hour. One of the other girls had a fever. When the nurse went in to check on her, she noticed the empty bed."

"OK. Let's think logically. Where might this girl be headed?"

"Her mother died when she was three. Her father was an American soldier who probably never even knew he had a daughter. She lived in that orphanage all her life."

"Let's go."

Olivia and Alex tore out of the building. Alex was still shaking with anger, so Olivia drove.

"Tell me where I'm going."

"Head east. Keep going."

They drove and kept driving. Alex did not say anything for a long time, staring out of the window. Olivia could practically hear the cogs whirring in her head.

"This wasn't your fault," Olivia said, more than twenty minutes after they had left the orphanage. Alex shook her head.

"Yes it was. These children have been beaten and starved and orphaned and abandoned their entire lives. My only job, my _only_ responsibility, was to help them. And this girl…I left this girl in that rathole orphanage. It was so miserable that she wanted to go _back_ to the place she'd been abused. What sort of idiot-"

"Alex. This is one of those rock-and-a-hard-place situations. There was nothing you could have done different, alright? Don't beat yourself up."

"Liv-"

"Alex. We're going to find her. Then we're going to take her home and find her a nice middle-class American family to love her and screw her up their own way, OK?"

Alex gave Olivia the smallest of smiles. "We ought to pick these dysfunctional bourgeois parents ourselves."

"Obviously. You got any barren friends in need of an infant?"

The small smile grew a little. "I have, actually."

"Fabulous."

There was a pause. Outside, the sun was just beginning to rise.

"Thanks," Alex said, quietly.

"No problem."

They continued along the desolate road, passing a small town every twenty minutes or so. The sun rose, and, even as they were both consumed with worry, they couldn't help but wonder at the view - red sky turning to orange, turning to purple and then sun-bleached blue.

It took them hours to get there. The orphanage, or what was left of it, was on the outskirts of a town, and stood isolated against the dusty landscape. Next to the building was a battered-up old truck, ten years old at least, with no plates.

"There's someone else in there. Stay here." Olivia moved to get out. Alex looked indignant.

"Like hell!"

"Alex. Do you have a gun?"

"No. Don't you have a spare?"

"Do you even know how to use one?"

"Aim, fire, duck. How hard can it be?"

"Stay here, Alex. I can't be useful if I'm panicking about you. I'll go in, find the girl, avoid whoever else is around here, come back, go home."

"Alright. Be careful, please."

"I will. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Alex kissed her, as calmly as she could, and Olivia ran her fingers across Alex's cheek.

Alex waited patiently in the car. She was too tense to read, or to make notes, so she stared out of the window at the ramshackle building and hoped with every ounce of strength she had that Olivia was alright.

The unmistakable sound of shots firing rang through the air, and then loud yelps. Four men, all dressed in ratty army fatigues, came pelting out of the orphanage and leapt into the truck. Alex unlocked the door and ran into the building, heading towards where the noise had come from.

The scene inside made her blood run cold. The little girl was already dead, and Alex felt her heart sink even as she dropped to check for a pulse. She was so little, so thin. But where was Olivia?

"Al…Alex…_Alex._"

"_Liv_!"

She ran towards the voice, through the first room and into a second. There, lying on the floor by a shattered window, was Olivia.

"Oh my God. Liv, Liv, Liv, Liv, Liv-"

"_Alex_. Alex, I love you. I love you. I love you."

Blood was spreading across her side, bright against the white of her shirt. Alex took off her own shirt and wrapped it around Olivia's waist. The bleeding slowed a little.

"Hey, it's going to be alright. You're going to be just fine. Stay with me."

"I love you."

The way Olivia was saying it made Alex terrified. "Stay with me. Please, Liv. I love you. Don't leave me."

"I won't. I love you."

"Good. OK. Can you move?"

"It's not…not deep. Didn't hit…gut. Help me up."

Alex wrapped her arms around Olivia and almost dragged her upright. Her blood seeped onto Alex's own shirt, and Alex had to use all of her strength to even hold Olivia on her feet.

"One step at a time, OK?"

"OK. I love you."

"I know. You're not going to die, alright? I know that you love me."

"Good. You didn't….last time…didn't."

"I did. I loved you then. Come on, let's get you into the car."

Between them, they dragged Olivia's broken body out of the orphanage and into Alex's car. The men were long gone.

"You loved me then?"

Alex leaned over and buckled Olivia in securely, then began to drive full-pelt back to Nairobi. She knew so little about wounds…but keeping her awake was good, right? Right?

"Yes, I did. I loved you. And when you were crying, I knew."

"Good. I'm so glad…alone…Wisconsin…"

"Your way with words is impressive." Olivia smiled, then winced and moaned with pain. Alex put her free hand, the one that wasn't on the steering wheel, in Olivia's. Her grip was bone-crushing.

"I love you…"

"Oh, no. No, don't pass out. Talk to me, Liv."

"If I die-"

"You won't. Ever. You aren't going to abandon me, Liv. You promised."

"I…did…didn't I? But I-"

"I love you. I won't let you die."

"I love you. Always have….always will."

Alex was beginning to cry, despite knowing that it would blur her vision, and squeezed Olivia's hand even tighter.

"I know. I know. Just stay with me, Liv. Stay with me."


	16. Blood

Olivia stayed conscious for as long as she could - Alex made her recite the Pledge of Allegiance, then the Miranda warning in six different languages, then her name and birthday and personal history, and then sing _America the Beautiful_ and _The Star-Spangled Banner_ and _Amazing Grace_ and even _God Save The Queen_, which made Olivia laugh, and then every state and state capital.

"I…never felt so…patriotic," Olivia said, smiling weakly. "Which will be ironic…if…die here…"

"But you aren't, so it won't, OK? You're going to be just fine and you're going to tell me what the capital of Minnesota is."

"Saint Paul."

"Exactly. Not dead, see?"

Olivia laughed, and then began to cough into her hands. Then she couldn't stop, and when Alex handed her a handkerchief, it came away bloody.

"Alex…"

Alex looked over, to see blood in the corner of Olivia's mouth. They were still half an hour from the nearest hospital.

"Love you, Alex. So much. Don't forget."

"I won't. Don't worry. I love you, too. Hey, Liv, Liv, stay with me. Stay with me. Liv-"

But Olivia's eyes were closed, and her head was resting on the window. Alex reached over, checked Olivia's pulse and her breathing as well as could while driving, and, not knowing what to do, let her sleep.

They pulled up at the hospital not long after. Alex had phoned ahead, and there was a small group of people waiting for them at the entrance. As soon as the car stopped, doctors rushed over and lifted Olivia out of it and into the hospital proper. Alex followed them, after tossing her car keys to Emilie.

"How bad is it?" she asked. The wound did not seem to have hit any major organs, but then Alex knew, from experience, that gunshot wounds were always dangerous. Could always lead to death.

"We don't know," the nearest doctor said, in broken English. "She needs surgery. Who is she?"

"Olivia Benson. She's my…" Alex honestly did not know which noun ought to finish that sentence. Associate, co-worker, bodyguard, moral support, tease, friend, lover. "She's an American," she said, finally. "Please, take good care of her."

The doctor nodded, and then made Alex sit down and wait. Alex knew who she had to call, but desperately did not want to. Still, were things to turn seriously wrong, he ought to know. He ought to be here.

"Elliot."

Alex's tone made his blood run cold.

"What happened?"

Alex explained, in the starkest terms she could manage. At the word 'gunshot' Elliot had sat up in bed so violently that he had woken Kathy.

"…and they can't tell me anything. She didn't think it would…that it would be alright…but then-"

"If she thought she was dying, Alex, she might have said that anyway."

"Exactly. Look, I'll call you if I hear anything, but I thought you ought to know."

"You did the right thing. Keep me posted."

"I will."

Alex closed her phone, and only then realised that her hands were covered in blood and that she was sitting in a dingy hospital waiting room in a bloodstained camisole and bloodstained trousers, a red smear across her cheek. At that moment, Emilie arrived, carrying, to Alex's gratitude, a clean dress and a cup of tea.

Hours passed. Alex could not be productive - her usual method of dealing with nerves - so she paced up and down the deserted stretch of hallway. Emilie sat at one end, reading quietly and waited for Alex to need her.

A doctor, with a much better grasp of English than his predecessor, came looking for her.

"Miss Cabot?"

Alex was immediately her calm, sensible self.

"How is she?"

"The bullet missed her organs, barely. Lodged in her side. She ought to heal alright, but she lost a lot of blood. A _lot_ of blood. She's awake, if you want to see her."

Alex felt her throat tighten, and nodded. The doctor lead her through the hallways, across a walkway, and into a private room. Lying in the bed, looking pale and thin and exhausted, was Olivia. And when she saw Alex, tall, beautiful, calm Alex - _her_ Alex - her face lit up.

Alex could not restrain herself - she rushed across the room and only just managed not to throw herself at Olivia.

"_Liv_. Thank God."

"Hey, Alex."

Alex sat down on the edge of Olivia's bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone tried to burn off my side with a blowtorch. Other than that, I'm fine."

Alex laughed, her voice thick with suppressed tears. "I'm so glad."

"Me, too. Kiss?"

Alex laughed again and leaned down and kissed her, and relief flooded through her like poison.

"Did you call El?" Olivia asked, when Alex had straightened up a little.

"Yes. I'll call him again when you go back to sleep."

"I'm thinking that'll be pretty soon," Olivia admitted. "Opiates are fun."

"No kidding. Come on, lie down. You don't need to prove how tough you are to me."

Somewhat reluctantly, Olivia lay back against the pillows. Alex kicked off her shoes and swung her legs up onto the bed next to Olivia's.

"You must be trying really hard to still be awake."

"I am."

"Don't."

"You could sleep too."

"Good plan. I'll do that."

"Good." Olivia's voice was even drowsier. "Don't go."

"I won't, Liv."

Alex rested her head next to Olivia's, and they both closed their eyes. Alex was tired, too - she had only slept a few hours the night before - but once she saw that Olivia was asleep again, she got up, made a quick, hopeful call to a relieved Elliot, and lay back down.

When the nurse returned, with the intention of throwing Alex out so that her patient had a chance to heal, her heart melted. She had seen the icy American woman, with her expensive clothes and shock of blonde hair, pacing the halls like a hurricane earlier that day, and wondered what could be so hard in a life like hers. But now she was curled up, barefoot, in a shift dress which was slightly too big for her, and clinging to the injured woman as if a storm was coming and her friend was the only shelter in the world.


	17. Sympathy

When Alex woke again, it was nighttime. There was a warm body pressed against her back, and an arm over her waist, and her bare legs were cold. She put her feet against the warmth. There was a low yelp and a laugh.

"Your feet are freezing, Ice Princess."

Alex turned in Olivia's arms, careful not to disturb her injured side, and smiled.

"Hey, you."

"Hey, you."

"How are you feeling?"

"Drugged-up."

"Correct answer. What are you even doing awake?"

"Thinking."

"I've tried it, so trust me when I say that opiates are not conducive to logical thought."

"Don't need logic."

"Oh. In which case, ramble away."

"The girl…Aisha. She's dead."

"Yes."

"Bastards shot her…shot though the heart. Died instantly. No family."

"It's not your fault, Liv. She was dead from the moment she left Nairobi."

"Not yours either. Tried to help."

"I failed, though."

"You tried. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."

Alex laughed softly.

"I'm impressed - Beckett, with that much morphine?"

"My mom."

"Ah."

Olivia tried to hug Alex to her, but the gaping hole in her side had other ideas. Instead, Alex put her hand against Olivia's cheek.

"Capital of Wisconsin?" Olivia asked, smiling.

"Madison, and it's very pretty. Liv, you need to sleep."

"I'm fine."

"Liv, you just got shot in the side and lost copious quantities of blood, some of which I still have literally on my hands. You are in no way, shape or form '_fine_'."

"Damn lawyer."

"Damn lawyer who loves you."

"I love you, too."

"Yes, I think I got that the first dozen times," Alex said, and Olivia laughed, and then coughed. There was still a drop of blood at the corner of her mouth, which Alex wiped away with her thumb.

"I needed you to know in case I was dying. Because you didn't and I hated myself so much for not telling you, and-" She broke into coughs again, and when she was done Alex put her hand gently over Olivia's mouth.

"We don't have to do this now, Liv. You need sleep."

"No. I'm such a coward. If I don't-"

"There's nothing you need to say more than you need sleep."

Olivia sighed softly and closed her eyes.

"You're too good for me."

"No such thing," Alex said firmly. "You are the best person I have ever known. At the moment, however, you don't need to be reinforcing that. You need to get better, because I couldn't possibly bear it if you didn't."

"Yes, counselor, ma'am."

Alex pulled the quilt over both of them and turned back onto her side, her back pressed against Olivia's front for warmth. They were both cold, though Olivia seemed to be shivering even under layers of blankets and with a warm human curled up in front of her. Alex could feel every shuddering breath against the back of her neck, and, eventually, they slowed and became more even. Careful not to wake her, Alex slipped out of Olivia's arms.

Emilie was waiting outside the room, still reading her enormous paperback novel, her stocking feet tucked underneath her and a cup of tea balancing on the arm of her chair. Alex felt a wave of gratitude and affection towards her.

"I _really_ don't pay you enough," she said, and Emilie grinned.

"Trust me, Ms Cabot, you pay me plenty. How is Ms Benson?"

"Sleeping again, thank God."

"I am glad. Mr Farkas called for you while you and Ms Benson were sleeping."

"Oh, this is going to be good," Alex muttered to herself. To Emilie, she asked, "What did he say?"

"He had not heard from you. He was worried that you were hurt."

"How considerate of him." If Alex had been any more sarcastic, she would have looped back into sincerity. "I assume you told him what happened?"

"Yes, Ms Cabot."

"Thank you. Could you call the office for me? Ask that the orphanage in general and Mr Farkas in particular have someone watching them until Olivia and I go back to collect the other children."

"I'll get right on that."

"And then call Annie, have her tell Manon what happened and that I'll buy her lunch and a new hat if she'll take on the rest of my cases or share them out amongst the others. And I'm going to be here a while - if you could get some clothes for me, and for Liv, I'd be very grateful. But go home first, get some sleep."

"Thank you, Ms Cabot."

"Well, staying outside your boss's….staying outside Liv's room was well above the call of duty, and I appreciate it. I owe you a bonus. Oh, and Emilie?"

"Yes, Ms Cabot?"

"You could probably call me Alex. Most people do."

Emilie smiled and stood up to leave.

"I'll be back at dawn with those clothes. I hope Ms Benson feels better in the morning. And, here - you'll need something to read."

Emilie handed Alex the book she had been reading, then disappeared. Alex went back into Olivia's room and climbed back into bed. Olivia was now solidly asleep. Alex leaned down, kissed her gently on the mouth, and began to read.

Olivia did not stir again until well into the morning. Emilie came by, as promised, not long after the sun rose, and Alex felt better for being in her own, familiar clothes. When Olivia did wake up, Alex was waiting for her.

"Still here?" Olivia asked, her tone light for someone who had just been shot at.

"It seems so. Can you sit up?"

With Alex's help, Olivia managed to struggle into an upright position.

"I have fruit, tea and sympathy. Which would you like first?"

"Tea. How long have I been out?"

"Oh, seven, eight hours. Are you feeling better?"

"Much. Thank you."

Olivia drank her tea for a while in silence, and Alex sat next to her, filled with a sense of relief worthy of the recently pardoned. But while that settled over her, she could not help but feel, very quietly, as if the worst was yet to come.


	18. Stain

And then it did.

Alex was lying in bed next to Olivia, her head on Olivia's shoulder, Olivia's resting on hers, and they were watching old reruns of _Boston Legal_. Olivia had one of her own sweaters over her hospital gown, which smelled comfortingly of her own apartment and her own fabric softener, and, also comfortingly, of Alex.

Alex smiled, which made Olivia smile as well, as she watched the legal system she had been working under for so many years be mocked, mercilessly.

"I wish Petrovsky would let me practice like this," she said. "It would make my job _so_ much more fun."

Olivia laughed, and then took a sharp breath in.

"What's wrong?"

"My side. It's nothing."

"Like hell. Show me."

Reluctantly, Olivia tugged up the hem of her sweater. Underneath, the entire left side of her gown was reddish-black with blood.

"_Liv_."

Olivia seemed equally shocked, and Alex could feel her hands shaking. She called for a doctor, who came running.

"She's bleeding out," the doctor yelled, physically pushing Alex away from Olivia.

Bleeding _out_? _Out_? No, no, no, no, no. What was she supposed to do here? Goddammit, she had no idea what she was doing. Elliot would know. Elliot would already be cursing and bargaining and making Liv laugh even as he did so. Elliot had never let his partner go into a firefight alone. What in God's name had possessed her to put the person she loved best in the world in mortal peril, when she clearly needed no help getting there on her own? Liv was always so willing to throw herself into any dangerous situation - what the hell was Alex doing helping her?

"Alex?"

Olivia's voice was as close to terrified as Alex had ever heard it. Doctors were frantically patching up the wound, which had reopened and was bleeding copiously, so Alex reached for Olivia's right hand, which was still shaking on the bedspread, and held it in both of hers. What else could she do? She knew about subpoenas and arraignments and summations, about biting her lip in dimly-lit law libraries and chasing after judges in high-heeled shoes. She knew nothing about medicine.

Olivia began to shake more violently.

"Alex?"

"Liv, I'm right here. Stay with me, Liv."

"Good."

Olivia's breathing became suddenly ragged, and then she fell inelegantly backwards onto the pillows.

"What's happening?"

"She's bleeding copiously. She'll need transfusions."

"So take some of mine. I'm O-negative."

The doctors exchanged an uneasy glance, but Olivia's blood was still seeping between their fingers.

"Fine."

They stitched the edges of Olivia's wound more securely closed, then bound it tightly with white cotton, the inner layer of which immediately turned red. Alex watched carefully - it never hurt to learn things, particularly when they had an effect on the woman she loved - and then allowed the doctors to take as much of her blood as was legal. They wheeled in another bed to lie next to Olivia's and made Alex lie down. She resisted falling asleep for as long as she could.

When she woke up, Olivia was gone. Her bloodied bedsheets had been removed, and all that was left was a clean, empty cot, ready for the next patient. Alex's brain began to shut down. It was impossible for Olivia to be dead; impossible that such a whirling strength of personality could ever be extinguished by _anything_, let alone something so prosaic as a bullet. Impossible. She could not have died while Alex was sleeping. It was not possible that she could have died without Alex even waking up, not possible that she would die alone. Alex loved her. They had been given so little time together - they had woken up tangled together so few times, kissed so infrequently, known for so short a length of time that they both felt the same way. How could she be gone? How could that be? How-

Alex began to cry. She did not descend into a sobbing wreck, nor did she howl at the injustice. Tears streamed silently down her face and onto the collar of her shirt. She had, in effect, killed the woman she was in love with. How was she supposed to tell Elliot? Elliot, who loved Liv more than any other man had ever loved her, who had protected her and teased her and given her a family for nearly twelve years - how could Alex possibly do that to him?

Outside, the sun was setting. Alex had lost all sense of time, could not tell you what day it was, or even what month, if her life depended on it, but it was clearly evening. The sky was radiant, and Alex hated it for being so glorious when she felt so dark, so uncertain that anything would ever be worth doing again.

"Alex? You're awake?"

It was Olivia's voice; clearly, the shock was making Alex delusional. She turned to see who had sounded so much like the woman she loved, and saw the woman herself, sitting in a wheelchair, her hair as short as it had been when Alex left for Wisconsin, her clothes clean and unstained and face lined with worry. Alex collapsed sideways, and only managed to stop herself from falling onto the floor at the last minute. Olivia quickly wheeled herself over.

"What's wrong? Alex, Alex, Alex, it's OK. Hey, hey, Alex, it's alright. It's alright. I'm here. You're home."

In an astounding display of strength, Olivia lifted herself out of her wheelchair and onto the cot next to Alex. Alex kissed her, fiercely, let her forty minutes of heartbreak and pure grief be burned out of her by reality. Olivia did not need to know why Alex was so upset, but wrapped her arms around her, somewhat painfully, and kissed her back and held her as close as she could. Alex could smell Olivia's hair, and feel the familiar weight of Olivia's body against her own, and could not have let go if she tried.

"You've been asleep for nearly twenty hours," Olivia said, once Alex could bear to stop kissing her. "You gave me too much of your blood. I was so worried."

"_You_ were worried?" Alex kissed her again - she did not care if anyone saw them, if it meant that the doctors would treat them like scum - and then again. "I thought you were dead."

The words hung in the air, and Alex saw the complete, bone-deep comprehension in Olivia's face. Of course she understood. She had been there.

"Contrary to popular belief," she said, holding Alex even tighter to her, "we're both alive. You have a hole in your shoulder, and I have one in my side, but we both refused to die. We're equals. And I love you."

Alex could not say anything, for fear of bursting into indecorous sobs, so instead kissed Olivia again and thanked every deity she could think of that she had been wrong.


	19. Touch

Olivia healed remarkably quickly - a gift which Alex, who had bruised easily since childhood, would pay good money to have - and was soon released, with strict instructions not to throw herself into so much as a pillow fight, into Alex's recognisance.

They went home. Olivia refused to lie in bed, despite the doctor's suggestions, and so, a few days later, they sat out on the porch, drinking tea and reading the newspaper together.

"Because World War Three could have started for all we know," Alex said, as they arranged themselves so that she did not press against Olivia's side. "I haven't so much as looked at a paper in three weeks."

"Well, apparently we're still alright," Olivia said. "Look, Obama's picked the last Supreme Court Justice."

"And it seems an octopus can predict the future. I don't think we missed much, on balance."

Alex leaned back a little and rested her head against Olivia's jaw. Olivia was feeling pleasantly sleepy, which she attributed to a mixture of opiates, goulash and happiness. It was a very good combination.

"What's the plan for tomorrow?" she asked.

"I'm going to do paperwork until my eyes bleed. You're going to sleep."

"Sounds riveting."

"You won't be awake to be bored."

"I don't need to sleep, Alex. I'm fine. Good as new."

The bandages had come off the day before, leaving a jagged, red-raw scar that still hurt like silver hell if anything touched it.

"Your new came severely damaged if it came like that," Alex said. "I would really rather you didn't bleed out all over my carpet."

"I only promised not to shoot things. The deal said nothing about blood."

"I'm a lawyer. It's an addendum. And you aren't going to win this one."

Alex turned so that she was facing Olivia. She sat cross-legged on the couch and stared at her, blue eyes cool and determined, until Olivia laughed.

"We can't wait here forever. We need to get those children back to where they belong, before-"

Both of them fell silent and serious, and each knew that the other was thinking what neither of them wanted to say: _Before we lose any more of them. _Alex had been tearing herself up about Aisha's death, although she had met the little girl only once. She had been a sweet, tiny girl, with a wide, pretty smile, and she had met such a lonely end. Someone's daughter. Someone's baby.

"El called," Olivia said, to break the silence. "While you were in the kitchen. He says Sophie has an aunt back home who's been worried sick about her."

That brought a little peace to Alex's mind. Not much, but some.

"And I know a couple who've been shot down by every adoption agency in New York," Olivia continued. "Sweetest women you ever met, desperate for a baby. We can help them. An old friend of mine who would make the most brilliant mother, but keeps getting rejected because she lives alone. My own baby brother's sister-in-law and her husband, who both carry the Tay-Sachs gene but are otherwise healthy, keep getting passed on by the agencies. There's so much good that can come out of this, Alex - so many good people can be given what they've been waiting so patiently for. And maybe we can find the birth fathers for some of them, or relatives, and maybe we can't. It doesn't matter. Yes, we screwed up. But you are still a good person who was trying to do the right thing. And I still love you."

She leaned forwards and kissed Alex, just once, on the mouth. Alex sat quietly for a moment, thinking hard, and then sighed.

"Why don't we go to bed?" Olivia suggested gently, as Alex ran her hands through her hair for the third time. "Like you said, I could still use some sleep."

They went inside, changed out of their clothes and got into bed. They lay facing each other for a while, Olivia trying to scrutinise Alex's face. She mostly failed.

Unexpectedly, Alex reached forwards and placed her hand on the back of Olivia's neck. Her hair, now much shorter than Alex's own, only just reached Alex's fingertips.

"Why did you cut it?" she asked.

"To restore the natural balance of the universe," Olivia said, as if this were obvious, as if she had been asked what flavour ice-cream she liked best and had replied, 'Honeycomb'.

"To restore the natural balance of the universe," Alex repeated, the ghost of a smile playing about her lips. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

Olivia's laughter bubbled through, and she ducked forwards and kissed Alex before she knew what was happening.

"You've always had shorter hair than me. Stupid, isn't it? But you had been asleep so long, like some bizarre urban fairy tale, and I had run out of things to do to help. So I cut it off. That's where I was when you woke up."

Now Alex was laughing as well. "You genuinely thought that would help?"

"Well, _no_," Olivia said, and Alex laughed harder. "I had tried kissing you, _a la_ Prince Charming, but to no avail."

Alex raised her eyebrows.

"Really? In a _Catholic_ hospital? In _Nairobi_? That's only barely legal."

"I'll admit, I was more hopeful about the kiss than the hair."

"And while I'm sad I missed that, you would have been kicked out so fast-"

"But we got away with it. Besides which, you slept in my arms - I don't think there was a lot of ambiguity about _that_ situation, and we didn't get thrown out."

"You'd be surprised how blind people are willing to be," Alex said.

"How much meaning should I read into that sentence?"

"Just a little more than was implicit."

"Ah." Olivia had to think about it for a moment. "OK. Do you mean that you would prefer it if we were - what's that word that means sneaky in Rich?"

"Discreet?" Alex offered, smiling faintly.

"Discreet. Is that it? Because I can do that. I'm _excellent_ at that. You and I can be completely platonic friends for all pubic intents and purposes. You felt sorry for me, living in my little crapsack apartment, and asked if I wanted to live in your spare room, which is all 'quite rich' and pretty, and since we work in the same district, it made good fiscal sense."

"'Good fiscal sense?'"

"So we'll find a line that actually sounds like people might say it. Good plan?"

"Not for you."

"Alex." Olivia held Alex's face between her hands. "As long as I'm with you, I'm happy. Everything else is glitter and noise. If you want to be public about this, then I'm delighted and will kiss you in restaurants and stand next to you on election days and hold your hand when we walk down the street, but if you don't, I can very easily live without any of those things. I already have. All I want is you. So feel free to introduce me as your friend next time you're asked."

Alex's mouth quavered a little.

"What if I introduce you as my girlfriend?"

"Well, then I would _have_ to hit you, because you sound about twelve."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Lover, then. Partner. Person I love. Stop me when I don't sound ridiculous."

"Person you love is anything _but_ ridiculous. I like it. Feel free to introduce me as such wherever we go, and I shall do the same."

Olivia was smiling and leaned down and kissed Alex's mouth, which, like all of her, was shaking slightly. She pulled off Alex's shirt, and brought her to rest against her own front. Alex traced her fingers delicately along the newly exposed wound.

"'This is Alex Cabot'," Olivia said, murmuring against Alex's mouth, and starting, unwittingly, the habit of a lifetime. "'I love her.'"


	20. Passing

They were gone within a week. Olivia had received a concerned phone call from Cragen, who had expected her back at least a week earlier, and a two phone calls a day from Elliot, who wanted her back in New York where he could make sure no-one else would shoot her. When Olivia had presented these arguments, Alex had reluctantly agreed.

It was a good week, though. Alex was still working from home, the rest of her cases having been handed off to her coworkers and her transfer forms sitting signed in her attache, and, Olivia being the worst patient in the world, she had insisted upon helping. Alex could not say this was unwelcome, as Olivia was, if not quite as quick as Alex, thoughtful and sensible, and had a good head for logistics, and although part of Olivia wanted to get back to running and shooting and investigating, another part enjoyed the dreamy quiet. She learned things about Alex which she had not discovered in twelve years of intensely close friendship: the way she sang to herself, only occasionally out loud, as if to stave off the silences; her insomnia, which they both suffered from and both used to catch up on their reading; the way she slept, curled into a tight knot; the fact that she was half English.

"You didn't know that?" Alex asked. She was sorting through her untidy stack of papers, looking for her passports. "My mother was English."

"I didn't know that," Olivia said, and took a handful of papers from Alex. Alex smiled sadly.

"Yes. She moved to America for college, so by the time I was born she was pretty well acclimatised. Still had an accent, though. This was her family's house - they were tea traders back when the sun never set on the Empire."

"Huh. You're very…Brahmin…for someone half English."

"Well, luckily, I inherited my father's character along with his surname."

Alex had found her passports, one burgundy, one black, and Olivia examined them with interest. There was Alex, blonde hair tucked neatly behind her ears, mouth pressed together as if to keep from smiling.

"It was your birthday last week," Olivia said, surprised. "You're thirty-seven."

"Really?" Alex was utterly disinterested, now sorting her mail into three teetering piles.

"Yes, really. Don't you care?"

"Not much, no. What's the date today?"

"25th."

Alex did a quick figure in her head. "My birthday was four days after you were shot. I was asleep, and then I thought you were dead, and then you weren't. So, not the worst birthday ever."

Olivia smiled a little, and went back to looking at Alex's passport.

"Hey - your English one gives your surname as Cavendish."

Alex waved a dismissive hand. "Yes. My mother's surname."

"Alexandra Cavendish." Olivia tried it out. "Huh. Doesn't really sound like you."

"You'd be surprised," Alex said, in a flawless RP accent. "I used the voice while I was away - nothing blends in like a little oddity, and what hitman looking for a Brahmin would think twice about an Englishwoman? It was almost fun."

Olivia looked up, to see Alex smiling down at her papers.

"You are further solidifying your International Attorney of Mystery status here, Alex."

"Cabot. Alex Cabot," Alex said, deadpan. "Attractive foreign women in ill-fitting dresses may form an orderly queue."

"The accent is cute. Next time we go undercover, we'll take you with us as a distraction."

Alex laughed at that, and slipped seamlessly back into her own voice. "No, thank you. They have a worrying tendency to go disastrously wrong."

"I'm insulted," Olivia said, putting a hand to her heart in mock-affront. "I'll have you know we haven't been accidentally shot for - oh, a good six months."

They finished sorting the paperwork and packed their bags; they were leaving early the next morning. Alex had organised for some of her books, and all of her clothes, to be delivered to her family's house in Boston within the next month. By which time, hopefully, she would have an apartment again.

Alex's coworkers had been distraught at the news that she was leaving them, and had arranged a farewell dinner at the Norfolk hotel. This was not something Alex was looking forward to - her colleagues were all extremely fond of their wine, and the meal was likely to descend into chaos - but Olivia thought it sounded good, mainly because she was itching to get out of the house. As much as she was awed by the sheer size of Alex's estate, a large part of her would like to go back to home to her cramped, hot apartment where she could watch New York spin by from her balcony, even if she was still not entirely fixed.

They were the last to arrive. Both were dressed quietly, in dark dresses which bled into the nighttime gloom, and only the candle-white cast of Alex's hair allowed the rest of the party to pick them out from the crowd. They had made an endearing effort - little stars-and-stripes flags and union jacks were dotted along the table, and Alex noticed a small pile of wrapped gifts next to the candles. Everyone else was already sitting down, though they all got up to kiss Alex on both cheeks, and, when they noticed Olivia behind her, kiss her as well. By the time they were all seated again, the sun had dropped almost completely out of the sky.

The food was excellent, and everyone in a good mood; Olivia was probably the only one not making jokes, and this was only because she was having to concentrate so hard to work out what everyone was saying. Her French was better than average, but nowhere near as good as Alex's, and more than once she had been forced to ask Alex what on earth was going on. This made Alex smile, but it also speak a little slower and more clearly. Even when all eight lawyers were firing lightspeed comments at each other which Olivia had no hope of following she was not unhappy, as it was interesting to watch Alex with her friends. She was more relaxed than she had been amongst Olivia's comrades, smiled more often, and was, apparently, much funnier - the tall blonde woman to Alex's left, whose name, Olivia learned, was Lea, laughed at almost everything she said.

They showered Alex with silly, sweet gifts and toasted her health in a variety of drinks. By the time they reached dessert, everyone but Alex and Olivia was more than slightly drunk, and Aurelie Laurent had fallen asleep. As the waiter came by with get another round of champagne, which both Alex and Olivia refused, Olivia would have sworn she could hear footfalls on the lawn. It was full dark now. The only lights were the flickering tea-candles, which were so dim that even though they were sat next to each other, Olivia could only see the shadow of Alex's profile, and the occasional glimmer of blonde hair as it caught the candlelight.

There was a soft, muted _thunk_, and then a crash. Olivia, who would recognise the sound a silenced weapon anywhere, immediately put her hand to her hip, where her gun ought to be. Where it wasn't, because she was wearing a dress.

"Alex?"

"Liv?"

_Thank God_, Olivia thought quickly. Then there was a shriek of horror.

Waiters came running, carrying metalwork lanterns which lit up the terrace. The first thing Olivia saw was Alex - Alex, whose face and neck and shoulders were splattered with blood.

"Alex? _Alex_. Are you hurt?"

But then the lantern-light shifted, and Olivia saw the source of the blood. Lea, Alex's blonde, warm, French colleague had fallen onto the table. The entire back of her head had been blown off.

Olivia pulled Alex to her, and they ducked away from the table and behind a column, and then ran indoors. They were followed by the others, white with shock and terror and shaky on their feet, and then people were screaming as a crowd gathered around the terrace from inside the hotel, and someone had called the police. Olivia knew that she ought to be helping the hotel guards, who were making a valiant but ineffective attempt to clear and light the terrace, but she didn't. Instead, she held Alex in her arms, and blood smeared onto her neck and jaw as Alex shook silently. Olivia led her away from the crowd and into a deserted bathroom, which was softly lit and had a long, plush bench along one wall, and made her sit down. She locked the door, then wet a hand-towel and carefully cleaned the blood from Alex's face and neck. Alex did not say a word, staring sightlessly at the mosaic mirrors. When Olivia was finished and had deposited the blood-soaked cloth in a wicker basket, she sat down next to Alex and wrapped her arms around her, kissed her hair. Only then did Alex see again - only then could her mind conjure up any picture but Lea, lying facedown in a pool of her blood.


	21. Distraction

Olivia held Alex tightly in her arms, stroking her hair. For a fleeting moment, Alex's brain allowed all other thought to seep away, washed through with the feeling of safety and permanence that she associated with Olivia. Then the images flooded back, and Alex longed for the warm, hopeful oblivion of a second before.

Olivia kissed Alex gently, so as not to startle her, and then walked her out of the bathroom and out of the hotel and into the car. Alex's driver had been waiting for them, spitting peanut shells into the gloom and listening to hits from the Eighties on the car radio. They drove the short distance home in utter silence, and even in her present distracted state Alex managed to dredge up the common sense to realise that collapsing against Olivia, while incredibly tempting, was not a good idea. Her brain was working too hard, the cogs snaring and spitting and steaming with frustration. They reached home and walked up the drive, and once the gatehouse was out of sight, Olivia put a supportive arm around Alex's waist.

Alcohol and bed - they seemed the only appropriate responses. Olivia led Alex into their bedroom, sat her down on the bed, and came back with two glasses of bourbon. They sat next to each other on the quilt, still in complete silence, and drank.

"He was aiming for me."

The statement hung in the air. Alex had said it with absolutely no emotion, but Olivia could see the fear, primal and petrifying, in Alex's eyes, and her heart ached. She finished the last of her drink, took Alex's empty glass from her hand, and held her face between her hands.

"No-one will hurt you while I am by your side," she said. "And this time tomorrow, we'll be home."

Alex nodded, but she was still rigid with fear. So Olivia kissed her, softly and slowly and with quiet tenderness. Alex felt cool oblivion spill over her fevered mind again, and she was so grateful she thought she might weep. Olivia stroked Alex's face. Making no sudden movements, she reached around and pulled the zip of Alex's dress down, gently, her eyes never leaving Alex's. Alex lost herself, allowed herself to feel nothing and think of nothing but Olivia, the feeling of her hands across Alex's shoulders, and then on her back, and the soft _whoosh_ of silk as her dress dropped to the floor. The pinpoints of relieved pressure as Olivia pulled the hairpins out Alex's tidy knot of curls and let her hair, still only shoulder length, fall back across her face.

When Olivia had removed all of Alex's clothes, and then, less carefully, her own, she climbed into bed and pulled Alex down with her. They lay pressed together, Alex still shaky and unfocused and and overheated and paler even than usual. Olivia kissed her, and ran her hands across Alex's back, and tried her very hardest to distract her.

"I love you," she said, and kissed Alex's jaw and the hollow of her throat and the ragged scar on her shoulder. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

For the first time since the shot, Alex looked at Olivia and really saw her. Saw that she knew exactly what was going on Alex's head, because she always did, and that she was trying to help. Saw her kind, beautiful face, and the expression of love and concern on it.

"I trust you," Alex said, and, as she did, realised that it was true. She trusted Olivia not to let her get hurt. She had already saved Alex's life at least once - perhaps twice, for if Alex had gone into the orphanage with Olivia, there was a good chance she would have ended up dead or wounded. Slowly, Alex felt the enormous weight of fear ease clean away. She did not have to panic. She was safe with Olivia.

Terror was replaced by wonder. She leaned forwards and kissed Olivia, actually present and whole again, and Olivia smiled against her mouth and kissed her back.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" Alex said.

"Plenty of things." Olivia kissed her neck. "You cared about me." Her jaw. "Treated me like an equal." Her collarbone. "And you make me happy."

Alex kissed her again, and felt a surge of heat spread through her blood. Olivia's hands were at Alex's waist, and then her hips, and then there was too much for Alex's tired mind to comprehend, warmth and darkness and pleasure and Olivia' mouth against hers and Olivia's hands against her skin and deeper and deeper and -

Oblivion. Pure and simple, cold as moonlight against the fevered pacing of Alex's thoughts. It was as if a shadow had fallen across her face on an unbearably hot day, as if Olivia's hands and mouth and skin were cool, smooth, rather than warm and damp and soft. A moment of clarity, of icy white light, before the rest of the world could filter back in.

Alex sank back into the mattress, exhausted. Her eyes flickered closed.

"Sleep." Olivia's voice, quiet in her ear. "Please. I'll be right here."

With the last of her energy, Alex managed to speak. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Olivia leaned down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to Alex mouth, then held her tightly, Alex bare back to her own front. She pulled the quilts more closely over them. Alex was already asleep, her exhaustion winning out over her desire to thank Olivia for her kindness. Relieved in the knowledge that she had chased away the worst of Alex's demons, Olivia laid one arm across Alex's waist, the other around Alex's shoulder and along the flat of her sternum.

When Alex woke in the middle of the night, as Olivia had been sure that she would, writhing with nightmares full of gunshots and endless seas of blood, her slight movement tugged Olivia awake. She did not try anything dramatic; instead, she pressed herself tightly against Alex's back, kissed her neck, and told her, over and over and over, that everything was going to be alright.

It was almost true.


	22. Help

They rose early, packed the car, and had a final, wistful breakfast on the porch. Alex had lived in this house for six months, and thought that she would probably miss it - it was cool and comfortable and full of pleasant reminders of her childhood. She had found, in a desk in her sister Elisabeth's old room, a family portrait taken on the front porch at home when she was about sixteen. She was the eldest of four daughters, all pretty, blonde and fiercely intelligent, and even now, on the extremely rare occasion where two of them were in the same room, their striking resemblance confused and infuriated onlookers. Alex had put the photograph into the pocket of her suit, and resolved to show it to her father when she went to visit him.

When they arrived at the orphanage's front gate, their charges were lined up in a neat row in front of the porch. There was something unnerving about their silence, the way they all stood to tidy attention. Even the babies in their bassinets were quiet. The four nurses Alex had paid for with her own money arrived soon after - stern, sensible British women with a long list of degrees and diplomas, for Alex believed firmly in being qualified. Alex checked again that they had all twenty-eight children, from Fatima Rabiu, the eldest at thirteen, to tiny baby Sophie. _Twenty-nine_, Alex thought. _There ought to be twenty-nine. _

And then they were at the airport, Alex's car following the blue-and-white school bus she had organised, and being checked through security, again and again and again. The American Embassy had been remarkably helpful, setting up travel visas and immigration papers at Alex's request and helping them leap over some, if not all, of the bureaucratic barriers posed by such a monumental feat of transportation.

The UN's chartered plane was a godsend, for it had a small, private room in which Alex and Olivia could sit and file forms and talk in low voices while the nurses, who were fluent in Swahili, sat with the scared and confused children and tried their damnedest to explain what was going on as the plane took off. None of them had ever so much as seen a plane, let alone been in one.

"I never did thank you," Alex said, three hours into the flight. They had just been to check on the children, who were almost universally exhausted and were either sleeping or staring, baffled, out of the windows.

"What for?"

"Well, coming with me, for starters - you probably saved my life more than once."

"Just doing my job," Olivia said, although her faint smile belied her statement.

"And helping me with the paperwork."

"Least I could do."

"And letting me forget last night."

At that, Olivia put her hand against Alex's cheek.

"And are you better? You seem better."

"I am. I must admit, I am very glad to be leaving Nairobi. Even up in the air feels safer than home did last night."

"I know what you mean."

Olivia had not slept much the night before. She had dozed lightly, waiting for someone to try and hurt her Alex. She would have kicked their teeth out. As it was, the only person to stir that night was Alex herself, who woke repeatedly during the night, plagued by the worst nightmares Olivia had ever seen. In the end, they had given up on sleeping, and sat curled together under a blanket on the porch and watched as darkness became sunrise.

As a consequence, they both slept heavily on the flight home. By the time they woke, they were beginning the descent into JFK, and the lights of New York were rushing towards them.

"Home," Olivia said, with such basic, robust contentment that Alex smiled.

"Home," she agreed.

They landed with a bump, startling the children and making the babies cry. Then an immense procession of bags and people and boxes of paperwork made its way out of the plane and across the airstrip and into a quiet terminal.

Where they were met by a sight for sore eyes.

Olivia had been fully expecting Elliot, and, as predicted, he was lounging against the railing, grinning at her even before she turned the final corner. But he was not alone. Next to him were Fin and Munch and Cragen, and Warner and Huang and Madeline Cady and, beaming at Alex, Abbie Carmichael. And behind them were more people, people Olivia did not know, all crowded together and waiting for them. If either Alex or Olivia had been the sort of women who cried, they would have burst into tears at this unexpected show of loyalty.

As soon as she was close enough to him, Elliot swept Olivia into a fierce hug.

"What kind of doofus gets shot on a paperwork mission?" he said, and she laughed and swatted at him.

"A brave doofus," she said, and he grinned even wider. "El, what's with the cavalcade?"

"I couldn't let two you do this alone," he said. "So I brought in some help."

The 'help' turned out to be an incredible array of people, even more than Olivia had first thought. There were government officials, who were already liaising with Abbie and Madeline over the technicalities, but also people Elliot had scrounged up from the recesses of his phone book - a caterer who owed him a favour, an old army buddy who ran a bus service, a handful of Kathy's nurse friends from the hospital, a guy from his poker game who sold furniture, a child psychologist friend of Huang's, a handful of translators Abbie had brought with her from DC, an ESL teacher, a pair of doctors, even an buildings contractor, who had cleaned up the old school building. Alex had given Elliot free reign to spend as much money as he needed to, and had instructed her bank to wire him whatever he asked for. He had put it to good use.

And, in amongst the pure whirl and chaos of their welcome party, one other person stood waiting. She was a small, dark-haired woman of about forty, dressed plainly. When Elliot had finished introducing everybody else, Olivia had asked about her, and Elliot grinned.

"Her name's Michelle Aronyan. She's your baby's aunt."

Alex, who had been standing next to Olivia, a cool, impassive column of blue, made a little noise of surprise at that. One of the nurses, who were carrying the six children too small to walk, handed the tiny bundle to Alex, who, for a fleeting moment, held Sophie in her arms. Olivia was touched by the image - beautiful, beautiful Alex, blonde hair falling haphazardly across her shoulders, the last glimmer of sunlight resting on her face, infant in her arms. Then she handed Sophie to her aunt, who was sobbing with a mixture of grief for her sister and joy at holding her sister's child, and then the moment had passed and Alex and Olivia both just wanted to go home and go to bed and sleep tangled together.

So they did.


	23. Partner

Elliot drove them home. The entire procession of children, nurses, lawyers, doctors, government fruitcakes and local businessmen were all headed downtown to the new building, led by a thoroughly determined Cragen, but Elliot wanted to tease Olivia about her wound some more. Alex sat in the back, and smiled as Olivia and Elliot batted friendly insults back and forth all the way from JFK to Olivia's apartment.

They dragged their suitcases up the stairs, and Olivia poured them all a glass of wine. Alex saw the look that crossed Elliot's face every so often, all narrowed eyes and tight mouth, and tactfully retreated to the bedroom to unpack, leaving the partners alone on the balcony.

They drank in silence for a while, as Olivia breathed in the glorious, rancid city air. She had missed her home a good deal while she was away, and was inexpressibly glad that Alex had decided to come home with her. She would have given New York up for Alex - she would give up her entire life for Alex, no questions asked - but she loved the city too, and could not really imagine living anywhere else. She was in such a good mood, back at home and safe in the knowledge that Alex was only thirty seconds away, that she did not realise for quite some time that Elliot was staring pointedly at her. She frowned.

"What?"

He leaned back in his chair, grinning.

"You told her, didn't you?"

Their eyes met across the rickety ironwork table, and Olivia knew exactly what he meant.

When Alex had died, Olivia had been inconsolable. She had stared glassily at the wall in front of her, unseeing, deaf, mute, incapable of both speech and thought. _No_. The word had run through her mind, again and again and again. No. It wasn't _possible_. Alex Cabot, _the_ Alex Cabot, blonde, beautiful legal genius Alex Cabot, _could_ _not_ have died. No. And then Elliot had hugged her, taken her rigid body into his arms, and it had hit her like a wave. Alex was dead. Dead. Gone. Taken from Olivia. She would never see Alex again. She would never see Alex's smile, rare and lovely, again. They would never kiss. It was that last thought that sunk into Olivia's heart, and then the world flooded back to her and she was weeping into Elliot's shoulder. He had taken her home.

"I loved her," Olivia had said, sitting stiffly on the edge of the spare bed. "I loved her, El. I loved her."

Elliot had not been shocked. He had not thrown her out of his house, or yelled at her for keeping this from him, or even raised his eyebrows. Instead, he had put his arms around Olivia's shoulders.

"I know," he said, and that calm acceptance was something Olivia never forgot. "I know you did. She loved you, too. Come on, now. You need to sleep."

Elliot had poured Jack Daniel's down her throat and watched her cry herself to sleep, and although he had never been more than vague friends with Alex, he found himself in mourning as well. His partner was never quite the same person, even after they had learned the truth about Alex's death, and he sometimes missed the vibrance and violence of Olivia's earlier self.

"Yes," Olivia said. "I told her."

"Well? And?"

"She feels the same way."

Elliot grinned even wider, though he had privately guessed the truth when he saw Alex and Olivia together at the airport. He had always been able to read Olivia. It was his job.

"Congratulations, Liv."

Olivia could not hear even the faintest hint of disapproval in his voice. It was pure, altruistic happiness on her behalf.

"Thanks."

Elliot finished the last of his wine, and Olivia produced two beers, as if by magic. This was far more to his taste.

"We never talked about it," Olivia said, "but don't you officially object to this sort of thing? Being Catholic, and all?"

"No," Elliot said. "I don't." The simplicity of his answer pleased Olivia, and she almost missed what he said next."Look, you fall in love with who you fall in love with. There's nothing any of us can do about that. Liv, you're my partner, and the deal is that I love you. It would take a lot more than you being with Alex to change that."

His short speech made, Elliot took another swig of beer. Olivia could not say anything for a while. Her heart was in the way.

"Thank you," she said, finally. Elliot shrugged, but he was quietly pleased at his own eloquence.

"Well, she's probably the only person we know who's good enough for you. And you've loved her forever. But I think I still win when it comes to firefights, don't you think?"

The teasing note in his voice made Olivia smile. "Oh, I don't know. You're pretty much useless - how can Alex possibly be worse?"

They descended into nonsense again, but there was an under-layer to their conversation. It said that they still trusted each other, would each still deliver their lives into the other's keeping every single day; that however much Olivia's heart belonged to Alex, and however much she was loyal to her above all others, there would always be a corner left for Elliot. This was an entirely necessary assessment, but by the time they had both finished their second beer they felt sure that it was still true. So Elliot yawned, stretched, touched a hand to Olivia's shoulder, and went to find Alex. Olivia sat out on the balcony until she heard the click of the door and saw Alex's figure against the doorway. They sat next to each other and watched the cars scream by.

"Did he just tell you not to hurt me?" Olivia asked. Alex laughed.

"I will apparently know the true meaning of the word 'bleed'."

Olivia grinned. "Ah, it's good to see he has the cliches down."

Alex put her hand on Olivia's thigh, and Olivia held it between both of hers.

"Seriously, though, are you alright? I don't want to be-"

"You aren't. We're fine. He's known since you died. He doesn't care. He grudgingly approves of you."

Alex put a hand to her heart melodramatically. "I'm flattered."

"Well, I'll do you one better. I love you."

Alex leaned over and kissed Olivia's cheek, then rested her head on her shoulder. Only then was she truly home.


	24. Sibling

Olivia was teaching Alex how to cook.

"This," she said, holding up an onion, "is food. Being the size you are, it seems that you two have only a passing acquaintance." Alex was trying very hard not to laugh. Olivia's expression was deeply serious, but the corners of her mouth were twitching. "Almost everything starts with a chopped onion."

They chopped onions and bell peppers, humming along with the radio. The city had cooled a little, and compared to Nairobi it was positively cold, but they still had the balcony doors open and the ceiling fan stirring the humid air. Alex's phone rang, and, on seeing who was calling, she shot Olivia an apologetic glance and went to stand on the balcony.

She came back five minutes later, rolling her eyes.

"My father's secretary. He's in New York this week."

"Oh?" Olivia tried to sound casually disinterested, but failed. "Does he want to see you?"

"Yes. Tomorrow, in fact. Apparently my sister is staying with him as well, so there will be an unprecedented number of us all in the same room."

"Which sister?"

Alex felt a little glow of contentment that Olivia had remembered.

"Caro. With my niece in tow. It will be appalling."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Alex looked up at Olivia. She was chopping mushrooms now, with an air of calm strength which none of Alex's family would be able to shake. Alex was rarely anything but frank with her father, because it was almost always entirely pointless to do so, and she considered for a moment the idea of simply presenting Olivia as she had done Robert - with the certainty of a foregone conclusion. It was tempting, particularly as Caro would be around to be _delightfully_ horrified.

But.

"Don't you have meetings organised for all of tomorrow morning?"

Olivia shrugged. "I can move them if you need me."

"No, I'll be fine. But thank you, anyway."

Alex got up while Olivia was still dozing the next morning, sunlight streaming through the shutters. She dressed with quiet attention to detail, for while her father could not care less about appearances, and was renowned in certain circles for having worn the same pair of battered deck shoes for the past eleven years, Caro would notice how she dressed before she had walked through the front door. She had kissed a now bleary-eyed-but-lucid Olivia goodbye and taken the car waiting in the street, sent by her father's secretary, across town.

It was lunchtime before Alex made it to the orphanage. Olivia had spent the morning talking to the various contractors, nurses and teachers, avoiding Cragen, who wanted her to see a doctor, and working through a list of friends who needed her help. Alex caught her taking a coffee break.

"Hey, you," Alex said, making Olivia spin on her heel. She was smiling before she had even seen Alex.

"Hey, you. How did it go?"

Alex leaned against the kitchen table, and Olivia poured her a cup of coffee.

"Not well. Caro was incandescent, my father wanted to know why I'm suddenly spending money on furniture, and Isabel knocked over a tea tray."  
"Sounds like fun. Did you…" Olivia lost her nerve. "Sandwich?"

"Yes, I told him," Alex said. "And yes to the sandwich. Do we have chicken?"

Olivia looked up at her, and Alex gave her a small smile.

"Alex - are you alright? You just-"

"Oddly, I'm fine. But I'm starving, and I need time to think."

Olivia nodded and began to slice bread. Alex sipped her coffee and stared out of the window, at the trailing limbs of an ancient tree in the courtyard, at the battered stove, the scarred kitchen table, Olivia's bitten nails, and the shaft of sunlight which caught her hair and turned it golden.

"I gave him your photograph," Alex said, finally, as Olivia was slicing spring onions. Olivia looked up.

"You have my photograph?"

Alex smiled, and took the picture out of her pocket. Olivia was standing in Central Park, her hair whipping around her face. It looked to be about May - the leaves were bright green in the background - and she was smiling radiantly. Olivia remembered Alex taking that photograph, now she thought about it; they had eaten lunch together in the park.

"That's not a bad picture," Olivia said, handing it back to Alex. "What happened?"

Alex sighed and sat down.

"We were talking about Robert."

"Wonderful," Olivia muttered. Alex rolled her eyes.

"Caro was extolling his virtues, again - her husband is Robert's second cousin, so I guess I should have expected it - suggesting that I try and make it work. She hasn't really wrapped her head around my miraculous reappearance yet, either, and I think she finds it easier to talk about Robert than about my funeral or anything. But every time I see her…and it's been a long week. So I snapped and told her that I was in love with someone else."

Olivia handed her a glass of water, and Alex smiled weakly.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine. No, I am. It's just…oh, Caro asked who he was, did she know him, how long had we been together, and I couldn't say anything, couldn't even think of a smart lie. So I took the photograph out of my wallet and handed it to my father, and he smiled a little and said, 'Well, she's very beautiful'."

Despite herself, Olivia smiled at that, and Alex leaned across the table and kissed her.

"Thank you. So everything's alright?"

"I don't think I'll be seeing my niece for a while. Caro…" Alex's voice trailed off.

Olivia put her knife down, skirted around the table, and put her arms around Alex. She was pale with fury, or grief, or some unholy combination of the two.

"Caro was all for disowning me there and then, cutting me out of the will - she was halfway to filing an injunction to change my surname. She was disgusted, spiralled off into a 'No sister of mine disgraces our family like this' speech. But my father stood up, very calm, and told her that no-one spoke that way to his daughter, and she left soon after."

Olivia wrapped her arms tighter around Alex's waist.

"You have a very good father," she said.

"I know. Hey, he wants to meet you."

"I'd like that. And I'm sorry about your sister."

"She'll calm down. I think. And even if she doesn't…well, you're worth it."

Olivia looked at Alex. Her expression was calm, if tinged with a little sadness, and she was smiling softly. Olivia held her, and could not think of the words to say, the right way to apologise for being a source of discord. So instead she kissed Alex, and hoped that, somehow, it was enough.


	25. Parents

They took their lunch out into the courtyard, which was pleasantly shady, and sat down on an old mosaic bench. Olivia juggled a file, her plate and her coffee cup, and handed the file to Alex.

"We have a meeting this afternoon with a pair of my friends."

"I'd like to say that sounds good, but it actually sounds like more paperwork."

Olivia smiled. "They're very respectable."

Alex put her coffee cup down and opened the file. Medical records, tax returns, birth certificates, xeroxed diplomas and shiny photographs spilled out onto her lap.

"I like respectable," Alex said absentmindedly, sifting through the papers. "Respectable is safe."

"Exactly. Look, here's their application. Sarah owns a chain of restaurants in the city, and Denise-"

"I know her," Alex said, surprised. "Not well, but I'd recognise her if we passed in the hallway. She's in white collar. She's very sharp."

"They make plenty of money. They live on the Upper East Side, their house is spotless, they have a doorman. There is absolutely no reason not to give them a child."

"So what's the problem?"

"Officially, nothing. Unofficially, the distinct absence of anyone male."

"Ah. I believe I'm beginning to get the picture."

"Well, the Benson & Cabot Makeshift, Bits-And-Pieces-Of-Random-Charity, Vaguely-American-Children City Orphanage is an equal opportunity establishment. All types welcome."

Alex laughed. "We'll put that name on the letterhead."

They finished their lunch and went back inside, and Olivia showed Alex around the old building. It was a handsome building, all dark wood and heavy furniture, which had been a boarding school before its tumble into insolvency. There were already ESL classes being held in the old auditorium, and they paused in the doorway to watch the handful of children old enough to need them as they began to sound out their first sentences. Most of them, however, were snoozing in the attic, which had been rapidly converted into a nursery.

Sarah and Denise arrived not long after. Olivia had set aside a pretty, sun-washed office for interviews, and Alex made tea - by the time the prospective parents arrived, they were the picture of serene professionalism.

Denise made a little noise of shock when she saw Alex.

"Aren't you Alexandra Cabot?" Alex nodded. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but I'm fairly sure I went to your funeral."

Alex smiled at that. "I got better."

"I'm glad. This is my wife, Sarah Jackson."

"Pleasure to meet you."

Everyone sat down.

"This is a strange situation," Sarah said, and Olivia snorted. "How did this happen?"

Alex and Olivia exchanged a quick glance, then launched into the story. The other women paid fierce attention, intelligent and sympathetic, and Olivia privately concluded that she had not misjudged them. And then Alex descended into a dense explanation of the legality which only Denise had even a hope of following, about immigration and adoption papers and civil rights law. Sarah and Olivia drank their tea, discussed the weather, and tried not to look too confused.

When she was finished, Alex nodded to Olivia.

"We're basically making this up as we go along," Olivia admitted, and both Sarah and Denise smiled. "You all know what I do for a living. You understand why Alex wanted my help. I've seen the worst of these situations. But I know you two would be good parents. I don't see why we shouldn't help you."

She had turned slightly towards Alex, who inclined her head. Sarah could barely contain her wide smile, all bright white teeth, and Denise was practically humming with happiness. Under the table, Alex reached for Olivia's hand.

That evening, they were reading the property section of the paper. Alex was sitting at one end of the couch, Olivia at the other, and Alex had her feet in Olivia's lap.

"My father has very kindly offered to give me the New York house."

Olivia looked up from reading the details of an apartment in Morningside Heights.

"The _New York_ house?"

Alex gave her a small smile.

"Main house is in Boston. Summer house is in Maine. New York house is on Park Avenue."

Olivia put her papers down in her lap and stared at Alex in disbelief.

"You are _ridiculous_, do you know that?"

Alex grinned and threw a sofa cushion at her. Olivia batted it away without thinking.

"I am not ridiculous."

"Yes, you are. Luckily, I am generous enough to look past your sheer ludicrousness and love you all the same."

"How kind." Alex put a hand to her heart.

"Remind me why you bother to work at all?"

"Because someone ought to do my job."

"Alex, people _compete_ for your job."

"People compete for _Connie Rubirosa_'s job. People run screaming from my job."

Olivia did a quick tally of the number of ADAs the unit had got through. "You may have a point there." She held Alex's feet in her hands.

"I must admit, I'm enjoying this bizarre little foray into adoption procedures. I so rarely get to actually do _good_. It's nice."

"What do you mean, 'rarely'? You've spent your entire life chasing other people's justice. Most rich women just throw money at their guilt. You almost diedfor it."

"But all that's after the fact. It gives them some measure of peace, maybe, but it doesn't add to the total sum of happiness. It just detracts from some of the misery. We made people happy today. I can't often say that."

"Neither can I."

Alex realised that everything she had just said applied as much to Olivia as it did to her, and felt like a monstrous idiot.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean-"

"It's alright." Olivia leaned over and kissed her, to prove her point. "I liked today as well. We righted a wrong. That's my job. That's how I see it."

"That's a lot better than my way."

"Well I think so, but I didn't go to Harvard."

Alex smiled and kissed her. "I did, it is, and this is the best day I've had in months."

"Really?"

"Even with Caro. My father still loves me. You still love me. We made two good people happy. What more could I want?"

"Somewhere to live," Olivia said dryly, which made Alex laugh. "Come on, happy girl. Let's find ourselves an apartment."


	26. Show

Olivia went back to work the following week, and her intense happiness with Alex was punctuated with late-night call-outs and the occasional horror story. But they made it work - Alex didn't care if Olivia left in the middle of the night as long as she came back. And because she always did, Alex was happy too.

It was early evening, and the sunlight was already fading. Alex was sitting in her favourite spot, a deep armchair by the fireplace, her legs slung comfortably over the arm. She was rereading _Sense and Sensibility, _a glass of iced tea at her elbow, and waiting for Olivia to get home from work. Her phone rang; hopeful that it might be Olivia, she answered it.

"Alex Cabot."

"Alex. It's Abbie."

"Abbie." Alex smiled genuinely - she liked Abbie. "How are you?"

"Can't complain. Listen, I had lunch with Jack McCoy today. He wants you back."

"You're still useless at small talk, I see."

"I'm told it's a charming facet of my personality."

Alex grinned. "Sure, let's go with that. In what capacity does McCoy want me back? I'm not sleeping with him, if that's what he's after."

That had Abbie laughing. "He still has that reputation, I see."

"If he could bear to hire assistants who weren't quite so beautiful, he might fare better. As it is, his favourite ADA is still Connie Rubirosa. Draw your own conclusions."

"I wouldn't panic. He saw your name in the paper about that crackpot orphanage of yours, and thought he could use the good publicity."

"I'm flattered." Abbie could hear Alex's eyes rolling from halfway across the city.

"He was a bit smoother than that, but not much. Expect a phone call tomorrow."

"Thanks for the warning. Whose job am I thieving?"

"Not sure. But I heard someone finally took Major Case - maybe you can have theirs."

"No, she was SVU."

"Jo Marlowe just moved to Chicago."

"SVU."

"Someone broke down in McCoy's office and begged for a transfer."

"SVU."

Abbie laughed. "Your friends sure can get through lawyers."

"Got through you."

"You, too."

"The only thing that got through me was a bullet."

"_Touche_. So, interested?"

"Vaguely. I'd take Connie's job, if it were going, SVU, which is out of the question, white collar, which I don't think is open, or Major Case, which isn't either. Otherwise, other people need the money more than I need the entertainment."

"How noble of you. Anyway, call me when you've worked out what you're doing with your life?"

"Will do. Thanks, Abbie."

"No trouble. See you."

Alex crossed her ankles on the arm rest and thought for a moment. She could not imagine what McCoy was planning, but there was a strong chance she wasn't going to like it.

Someone knocked at her door. Confused - obviously, Olivia had her own key - she got up to answer it.

Her sister. For a moment, Alex assumed that was Elisabeth, or even Kate, although Kate rarely left Boston, and Elisabeth lived in San Francisco. But it wasn't. It was Caro.

"Caroline." Alex was more stunned than she let on.

"Alexandra."

"Are you coming in?"

"May I?"

Alex stepped back and allowed her sister past. Caro perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch.

"If you're here to yell at me, Caroline, you can leave now."

"I'm not going to yell."

"How refreshing. Tea?"

Caro nodded, and Alex retreated into the kitchen. In the world of their childhood, tea healed all wounds. Their mother had dealt with every problem, from a tear in her sleeve to the death of her brother-in-law, with tea. Just the smell of tea calmed Alex. Even when she had been moored in the back of beyond, her brand of tea was still available in every grocery store. She had bought box after box her first winter alone.

Caro was thumbing gingerly through her coffee table book when Alex returned.

"Thank you. Are we alone?"

"Olivia will be back any minute. Until then, yes."

Caro nodded and took a sip of burning tea. She didn't say anything.

"Caroline, are you here for a reason or just to unnerve me?"

"I am here to ask you to think again about what you're doing."

Alex put her teacup down on the coffee table. "You're going to leave now."

"Alex-"

"No, Caroline. I will put up with almost anything, but listening to you criticise the woman I'm in love with is beyond me. Leave, please."

Caro looked at her with barely disguised exhaustion. Of course, that was such a subtle change in expression that no-one but another Cabot would have noticed.

"Alex, you're my sister. You taught me how to read, you quizzed me on Latin verbs, you protected me from Mama, and I love you." Caro's voice stuck in her throat, and tears began to trail down her face. "I can't just watch you destroy your entire life over some…some backwater cop. I can't. You've lost so much, I can't-" She began to weep.

Alex looked at Caro; at thirty-five, Caro was still Alex's baby sister. She could see the little blonde girl Caro had been, who lisped, read Nancy Drew, loved pink, ate sour lemon drops and stole their mother's lipstick. She loved Caro, as much as she loved Kate or Elisabeth. Probably more. And now, when she knew she ought to hate her, she found she could not quite do it.

At that moment, as Alex was trying not to cry, the key turned in the lock.

"Alex? I was passing the bookstore on the way home and I saw this copy of _The Tenant of-"_

Olivia was walking into the apartment backwards, and so by the time she had turned to face Alex, both sisters were standing up. It was incredibly eerie; as if someone had drawn a rough pencil sketch of Alex, then tried to recreate her from it. The details weren't quite right - Caro's nose was a little too big, her mouth a little too pink - but the overall impression was remarkably close.

"Hi," Olivia said, trying not to sound awkward.

"Liv." Alex stretched a hand out to her, and, confused, Olivia took it. "My sister, Caroline."

Olivia extended her free hand to Caro. All the misgivings in the world could not overcome good breeding, and Caro shook it without thinking.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," Olivia said. She kissed Alex's cheek, nodded to Caro, and left.

There was a pause while the sisters looked at each other. Caro took her coat from the back of the sofa, walked to the door in silence, then turned around.

"He was right. She is very beautiful."

Alex sighed softly."Yes. She is."

Caro nodded, as if this made some sort of sense. Then she pulled the door closed and walked away.


	27. Terror

**For my own A. I love you.**

Alex stared at the closed door for a moment, trying to unravel the knotted threads of the past fifteen minutes. She gave up, and went to find Olivia.

She was in the kitchen, unpacking a bag of groceries. When she saw Alex standing in the doorway, still dazed and furious in equal measure, she dropped the box of orange juice she was holding onto the counter and took Alex into her arms.

"You alright?"

Alex nodded against her shoulder. "I think so."

"OK."

They stood like that for a while, Alex's head on Olivia's shoulder, Olivia's arms around Alex's waist. Alex stepped back, and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Here, I got you this."

It was a book. This was a running joke between them - when they had moved into this apartment, they had been forced to set an entire room aside for all their books. Olivia did not read nearly as much as Alex, but she had inherited her mother's entire library on the event of her death, and they had been sitting in piles around her apartment ever since. Alex had spent an entire day the previous week sorting, alphabetising and shelving the books, a task which she had been doing for her father since she was twelve. Olivia had come home to find Alex sitting on the bottom rung of a stepladder, engrossed in a novel. Her hair had fallen out of its bun around her face, her sweater had ripped at the shoulder, and she was surrounded by stacks of books. She had looked up as Olivia came in, and Olivia's breath had caught in her throat, for Alex had never looked quite so beautiful - dusty, unkempt, and radiantly happy.

They were lying in bed later that night, Olivia reading an old Lindsay Davis novel, Alex reading Olivia's new copy of _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_, when Olivia's phone rang.

"No, no, no," Olivia groaned, reaching for the phone on the bedside table. "Be a wrong number."

Alex smiled behind her book.

"Benson. Aw, El…no, it's alright. Where? How long? OK, I'm just leaving. See you in twenty."

Olivia turned to Alex with an apologetic look, and Alex rolled her eyes.

"It's fine. Go." Alex turned her face up to be kissed, which Olivia promptly did, then pushed her out of bed. "What is it?"

"Rape-homicide at 49th and Lex. I shouldn't be gone too long."

"Alright. Wake me if you get back before three."

"Will do. Love you."

"Love you. Don't get shot, please."

"I try."

Olivia leaned over again, kissed her, then ran for the elevator. Once she was gone, Alex sighed and returned to her book, knowing that she was unlikely to see Olivia again before morning.

Elliot was already waiting when she arrived, stamping his feet to keep warm.

"Liv."

"El. What've we got?"

"The vic is Emily Winthrop, thirty-five. Liv…"

Elliot's tone made Olivia look up. "What is it?"

"Promise me you won't freak out?"

Olivia sent him a look of contempt. "I'll be fine."

Melinda shot her a worried look as she crouched next to the covered corpse, but pulled back the sheet. Olivia's heart stopped.

It was Alex. Exactly, perfectly identical to the woman she had left at home, in bed, half an hour ago. The face was the same, the build the same, even the smashed black glasses the same. Olivia stood up shakily, and resisted the urge to call and check that Alex was alright.

"It isn't her," Melinda said. "Look."

She pulled the sheet a little further down, exposing the woman's shoulders. They were smooth and unblemished, and Olivia breathed a sigh of pure relief; the skin on Alex's right shoulder was raised and wrinkled, the scar long since having healed but still very obvious. Alex was a little self-conscious about it, and refused to wear anything that might accidentally slip off her shoulders. Olivia had tried to persuade her that it was a badge of honour - her own skin was peppered with scars, including a long white gash across the back of her neck - but Alex didn't buy it.

When Olivia got back home, less than three hours later, Alex was still awake. She had a cup of tea in one hand, her novel in the other, and was sitting with her back against the headboard.

"Hey, you," she said, as Olivia sat on the edge of the bed. "Horrific on how many levels?"

"Two or three, at least."

"Can you sleep?"

"I think I ought to."

Olivia took off her jeans, sweater and shoes, and climbed into bed. She was reluctant to tell Alex that they had found her doppelgänger raped and shot in a dingy alleyway - it was disturbing enough to see the woman you were in love with lying dead and bloody on the streets of Manhattan, let alone yourself. Instead, Olivia turned out the light and held Alex as tightly as she could. This was not the first time Olivia had come home and needed to be reassured that there was still some good in the universe, so Alex knew what to do; hug her back, kiss her often, and not ask any questions.

Olivia was still bleary-eyed the next morning, so Alex gave her a lift into work on her way to the orphanage. She needed a word with Cragen about some paperwork, and accompanied Olivia up to the squad-room, where she was greeted warmly by the others.

"Still not dead, Alex?" Munch said, handing her a mug of appalling coffee.

"Oh, despite my best efforts," Alex said, smiling. "Is Cragen in?"

"Not yet."

Elliot came rushing in, barreling past Alex, heading straight for Olivia.

"Liv. You need to see this."

He tossed her the file he was holding, and she opened it. Her eyes widened in horror, and Alex was immediately at her side.

And then she saw what had made Olivia so horrified.

Another woman who could have been Alex was dead, found half an hour ago in a dumpster. The resemblance was less strong than in the first victim, but it was still enough to make Alex's knees buckle beneath her, and the only thing which stopped her from falling was Olivia's arm, suddenly around her waist.

There was nothing to be said.


	28. Hiding

"I'm not going back." Alex's first statement, once they were all standing in Cragen's office, hung in the air. The others looked at her with a variety of expressions; worry, sympathy, love, Munch, and confusion.

"What do you mean?" Elliot asked.

"I mean, I'm not going back into WitSec. I know one of you is about to suggest it, so I'm going to head you off. No. I won't."

Underneath the table, Olivia reached for Alex's hand, to find it already halfway to hers. She laced their fingers.

"Protective detail?" Cragen did not sound hopeful. Alex and Olivia exchanged a glance, and Olivia nodded; although she would not take security for herself, she would take it for Alex.

Alex turned back to Cragen. "Fine."

"Good. I'll set that up. Meanwhile, can you think of anything we ought to know?"

"Lea," Olivia said, and Alex nodded. They explained what had happened, and Cragen looked even grimmer.

"Munch, go talk to Interpol," Cragen said. "See what the Kenyans came up with. Fin, Elliot, work the homicides. Get Huang in here. Liv, Alex - a word?"

The others nodded to Cragen and left. Cragen shut the door behind them.

"Olivia, go home."

"Captain, I only just got - "

"No arguments, detective. I can't have you working this one. Go home. Alex, where am I sending the detail?"

Alex reeled off their new address. She was only halfway through before Cragen had stopped writing and looked up at them in surprise. Olivia had recently changed her home address on her file, to much teasing from the others; it was in a far more expensive neighbourhood than her previous apartment. It was the same one Alex was listing.

There was a deafening silence for a moment. Then everyone tried to talk at once.

"Captain-"

"Sir-"

Cragen won.

"Olivia, I really, _really,_ don't want to know. It is absolutely none of my business. All I'm going to say is, if you _happened_ to be in the vicinity of Alex's apartment, you _perhaps_ might consider helping the uniforms protect her. _Maybe_. We clear?"

Despite everything that was happening, Olivia gave him a small smile. "Perfectly."

"Alright. We'll phone if anything happens."

Both women nodded, and Olivia drove them home. Alex was making a terse phone call.

"Caro. Yes, it's me. No, I haven't. No. No. Listen to me, Caro, go home. Get out of the city. I'm serious. No, it isn't, Caro, you need to trust me. Two women are already dead, I can't - thank you. Call me when you get home."

She hung up. Olivia sent her a questioning look.

"I don't know if you noticed, but Caro and I look very similar. I don't want her dead on my account."

They drove the rest of the way home in silence, and were comforted to see that a patrol car was already stationed outside their building. Olivia flashed her badge at the uniforms on the door, and they headed upstairs.

They could not think of what to say, either of them. So they lay down on the couch, Alex's back against Olivia's front, and clung together in silence for a while. Alex felt surprisingly safe.

"This reminds me of the Connors trial," she said, quietly. "I know I ought to be terrified, but I'm actually alright."

"That makes one of us," Olivia said, and tightened her arm around Alex's waist.

"We're surrounded by cops, Liv. No-one get anywhere near us unless we know who they are. And you have a gun."

"I know."

"You're scared anyway?"

"I am."

"Do you want me to distract you?"

"I would."

_But not too much_, Alex reminded herself, as her brain's first suggestion sifted to the forefront.

"Jack McCoy is about to call and offer me a job," she said, turning in Olivia's arms so that they were face-to-face. "It will probably be some horrible backwater division nobody wants. Tell me, detective - what's the worst I could get?"

Olivia allowed herself to play along. "Anti-Crime Taxi Squad."

"Anti-Crime _Taxi_ Squad?"

"I pretty much dreaded getting that one - maybe the DA's office doesn't have a specific ADA for the taxis. What else? Harbour Unit's pretty dull. And - hey - you might get Housing Bureau."

Alex smiled. "Well, that all sounds pretty bad."

"It is. But McCoy likes you, I think. Maybe he has something interesting and novel for you to do."

"I'm not sure I entirely want McCoy liking me," Alex said, deadpan, and Olivia smiled for the first time since they'd gotten home. She leaned forwards and kissed Alex.

"How could he not?" she said, lightly. "On a more serious note, how do you know he's going to offer you a job?"

"Abbie."

"Ah. And how is she?"

"Loquacious as ever, so I have no idea. But she sounds happy enough."

"Good to know."

Olivia pulled Alex closer to her, so that they were pressed together in a warm, comforting way. _Alex is not going anywhere_, Olivia reminded herself. _Please, God, don't make me go through that again. _And although she could not be sure of the future, she could make the best of her here and now, and so she kissed Alex with all she had and hoped against hope that everything would, somehow, be alright. 


	29. Waiting

**My apologies for the gap. I moved. **

They spent a long, sad, nervous day together, reading and drinking tea. The risk of imminent danger made them reluctant to be apart, and so they sat together on the couch, rarely more than three feet from each other.

When the phone rang, in the early evening, neither were overenthusiastic to answer it - it was incredibly likely to be Elliot, calling to say that they had found yet another pale, beautiful dead woman. Olivia was closer.

"Hello?"

She handed the phone to Alex and mouthed, _McCoy_; Alex breathed a sigh of relief, and took it. Olivia lay back on the couch, and made a valiant attempt to just read and not eavesdrop. She mostly failed.

"Yes. No, it was. Not exactly. Are you entirely sure you want to know the answer to that question? No, sir. Pardon?"

Alex had almost dropped the phone in surprise, which made Olivia look up from pretending to be interested in her book.

"Of course I would, but you must know about- Yes. But what- Well, if you- Do you not want- Of course. I can't possibly…thank you. Tomorrow. Thank you. Goodbye."

Alex hung the phone up and turned, mute, to Olivia.

"And?"  
"That was Jack McCoy," Alex said, slowly. Olivia rolled her eyes.

"No kidding. What did he offer you? Traffic patrol? Taxi squad? Unpaid paralegal?"

"EADA."

Olivia, who was not a complicated person, immediately dropped her book and hugged Alex. Alex hugged her back, her expression still a little blank.

"Congratulations! How?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"What about Cutter?"

"There are usually two EADAs. Sonia Paxton, remember?"

Olivia snorted. "How could I forget? But wasn't she replaced?"

"Yes, and her replacement just transferred out to a DA's post upstate. Office is free."

Olivia hugged her tighter, and felt incredibly glad that a little bit of warmth and happiness had managed to make it into their otherwise unsettled day.

They were interrupted, not long after, by Abbie Carmichael, bearing news and Chinese food.

"I just heard," she said, before the door was even fully open. "Every ADA in the county is going to want your guts."

"I'm fine, thank you for asking. So is Liv. How did you get past the detail?"

Abbie raised one perfect eyebrow, and Alex laughed.

"Come in. There's wine."

"I knew I liked you. Hey, Benson. Are you guarding Alex?"

Alex and Olivia's eyes met across the kitchen, and Olivia could swear that she saw the corners of Alex's mouth twitch in suppressed amusement.

"Yes," Olivia said, because it was true. "Wine?"

They sat down around the kitchen table, passed out food and plates and cutlery, and began to eat. They were all starving.

"How did you know so quickly?" Alex asked, as Abbie accepted a second glass of wine.

"I'm far higher up the food chain than you," Abbie said, with charming nonchalance. "And McCoy is a friend."

Both Alex and Olivia gave Abbie the exact same look - amusement and curiosity and faint disapproval, all mixed together. Abbie shielded her face in mock-reticence, peeking out between her fingers.

"You two are a dangerous combination," she said, reprovingly. "When did you get so close?"

Ah, hard not to laugh at that. "We've always been close," Alex said, in her smooth prosecutor's voice. "And don't try and change the subject."

"No, I didn't sleep with him. But you ought to bottle that stare and sell it to first-year law students."

"Who is going to want Alex's head on a stick?" Olivia asked, changing the subject.

"Connie might, although she's pretty sweet-natured. And she wouldn't want to be apart from Cutter. Casey Novak would go purple with envy and hit you, were she not in Chicago. Laura in Robbery, Denise in White Collar-"

"Denise in White Collar owes me a favour," Alex said. "I think I'm safe on that front."

That couldn't go unexplained, so they took a twenty minute detour into news about the orphanage. Abbie shook her head in faint disbelief.

"You two are quite incredible."

"We are," Olivia said, grinning. Abbie considered throwing a spring roll at her, but ate it instead. Underneath the table, Alex's left hand was in Olivia's right.

Abbie stayed a while longer, but had court in the morning and had only really come by to check on Alex - she was fond of her, in an understated way, and had been deeply saddened by her death.

"Share a cab, Benson?" Abbie asked. She liked Olivia, too, liked her vibrance and handsome severity.

"I'll be here a while longer," Olivia replied. Abbie shrugged, smiled, and left.

"'A while longer?'" Alex said, smiling.

"A long while," Olivia said. "A lifetime's worth of while."

"That sounds pretty good."

Olivia smiled across at her.

"EADA Cabot," she said. "Lord. You promise me you won't turn into a megalomaniac?"

"I can try," Alex said, smiling back. "But if I look like I'm headed down that road, feel free to batt me off course."

"Deal."

Olivia offered Alex her hand, warm, tan, bitten fingernails, calloused, scarred. Alex took it in hers, white, soft and perfect. They shook on it.

"Everything's going to be alright," Olivia said, and Alex smiled a faint, wan smile at her optimism.

"I hope you're right, Liv. Hey, do you think Abbie guessed?"

"Nope," Olivia said. "Good litmus test."

"As if I will ever need to hide you," Alex said. "As if such a thing were possible."

"Oh, but no-one pays a cop any attention. It's the best disguise there is. I could be your bodyguard."

Alex bit her lip for a second, trying not to smile. "There are all sorts of tasteless jokes to be made here," she said, and Olivia grinned and kissed her.

"I will endeavour to avoid them," she said. "Perhaps just one-"

But Alex had cut her off before she could tease any longer, and Olivia put her heart into Alex's hands for safekeeping and kissed her back.


	30. Politics

They left for the DA's office very early the next morning, escorted by a phalanx of uniforms. Alex and Olivia sat in the back of Alex's car, talking quietly, their heads bent together. The driver paid them little attention, and they swept through the city undisturbed.

Jack McCoy was waiting for them when they arrived. If asked, Olivia was Alex's protective detail - she would wait just outside McCoy's office while he and Alex thrashed out the terms of the agreement, waiting to blast anyone who tried to hurt Alex into smithereens - and had a book in the pocket of her coat. She and Alex walked up the steps, not quite touching at the shoulders; if anyone had seen them together, Olivia's bearing would have suggested protection rather than intimacy. Surreptitiously, Alex brushed her hand against Olivia's, held it for a second, then straightened up to meet McCoy.

"Alexandra," he said, and shook her hand. "How long has it been?"

"Not so long, this time. You just can't get rid of me."

"As if we would want to. Come, come. Detective, if you'd like to wait here."

Alex shot Olivia a private smile, which Olivia returned, then disappeared into McCoy's cavernous office. Olivia took her book from her pocket, scanned the hallways for anything suspicious, and began to read.

"I am not going to lie to you," McCoy began, sitting down behind his desk. It was still odd for Alex to see him there - she always expected Branch to be just around the corner, ready to hand down some Southern wisdom or yell politely at her for screwing up. "This is not a politically neutral decision."

"I'm stunned," Alex said, her voice cool and amused.

"You an excellent attorney who has given most of her working life to this office. I am of course delighted to offer you this position."

"So - what do you want?"

"Your public support."

"Obviously. And?"

"The support of your father."

Alex bit her lip to keep from smiling. "And why do you want that?"

"Your perspective may be somewhat distorted, but he's quite a big deal to the rest of us."

"I would argue that he's quite a big deal to me as well. I can ask him. I can't promise anything." McCoy nodded, satisfied. "Is that it?"

"Unless there's anything you want to tell me? Anything skeletons?"

"Apart from mine, you mean?"

"Your death is a good story," McCoy said. "It makes you sympathetic. Alex Borgia used to talk about you with a great deal of affection."

"Ah, but we were friends," Alex said. "And look where this office got her."

"That will not happen again," McCoy said, and there was grief, raw and guilty, in his face. She did not touch it.

They talked for a while longer, discussed, with some wry amusement, the matter of salary, and Alex reiterated her promise to try with her father. Privately, she knew that her father liked McCoy, found him driven, amusing and intelligent, but it did not hurt to let him flatter her a while longer in the hope of winning William Cabot's support. She was rather enjoying herself.

"Would you agree to a press conference tomorrow?" McCoy asked. "Your predecessor was much-despised, and it would be good to win back some support."

"Yes," Alex said. "When?"

"Noon?"

"I'll be there."

She got up, shook his hand again, and left. Olivia, who was five chapters into her book and humming _America the Beautiful_ under her breath, looked up as the door clicked softly shut.

"How did it go?"

"Well," Alex said. "I need to have a word with my father. Care to join me?"

Surprised, Olivia nodded, and they walked out into the autumn sunshine. It was an unusually clement day, and lawyers strode purposefully up and down the steps in a constant stream of suits and briefcases. Alex felt optimism bubble up inside her. She had missed the DA's office, a building in which she had spent so much time and expended so much energy. It was almost like home. And she could try whichever cases took her fancy, something she was very much looking forward to - she had not been in a courtroom for some time, and was itching for the excitement and the power of the thing. She was thus fairly cheerful as they drove across town, Olivia's hand in hers, and related the entire conversation with McCoy to her.

"I'm very glad," Olivia said, and kissed her cheek. "You deserve a little ease after the last few years."

"It ought to be good," Alex agreed. "And - now - my father. The only trick to dealing with him is to say something brilliantly amusing during the first twenty minutes."

"Nothing hard, then," Olivia said, rolling her eyes. Alex smiled.

"Not at all. Come on, we're here."

They had pulled up in front of a tall, well-proportioned house whose front was heavy with ivy. Olivia had learned how not to seem bowled over by wealth, and managed to follow Alex up the front steps with a minimum of gawking.

They were met by a warm blonde woman, very tall and solid and strong, and Olivia wondered for a stupid moment if this was Alex's mother. But then she remembered that Louise Cabot was both English and dead, and this woman appeared to be neither.

"Alexandra. Your father is in the library, and Katherine is upstairs."

Alex made a little noise of surprise and walked with redoubled vigour towards the library, Olivia following, staring only slightly at the dark wood and dirty gold and heavy fabrics. Before they had made it, they were met by a mirror.

In fact, not a mirror. Another sister.

"Kate," Alex said, her voice very gentle. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Kate was, on closer inspection, younger than Alex, and her eyes were very different - in the place of Alex's fierce intelligence was a vague, dreamy sweetness. Her hair was a softer gold, almost floating around her face, and she seemed a little distracted.

"Alex. And you must be Olivia," Kate said. Her voice was soft and quiet, and had none of Alex's bite to it. "Father mentioned you."

"Where is he?" Alex asked.

"You are just as beautiful as he described," Kate continued, shaking Olivia's hand. "Alex, where did you two meet?"

Alex skirted around Kate, who was still staring amiably at Olivia, and into the library. Her father was sat behind his desk, writing out a speech longhand.

William Cabot, influential lawyer, merchant and statesman, looked the same at fifty-eight as he had at thirty. Tall, handsome and grey-haired, he had retreated into himself after the death of his beloved wife, and, although outwardly as charming and able as ever, was followed relentlessly by a deep sadness. His eldest daughter, however, had always been gifted with the ability to make him smile.

He looked up from his papers, to see Alex in his doorway. He was content.


	31. Acceptance

They settled on the back porch, which was screened and comfortable, and a maid brought out a pot of tea and a plate of macaroons, which Kate and William were both exceptionally fond of. Alex sat next to Olivia, and tried to breathe normally as her father began to ask questions.

"Am I right in thinking your name is Olivia?"

"Yes."

"And how long have you known Alex?"

"Twelve years."

Alex noticed his surprise at that. "Before she died?"

Olivia took a sharp breath, but nodded. It still hurt, a little, to think of Alex as dead, however much she knew that she was sitting right next to her, flesh and blood and white-blonde hair, warm, solid and very much alive.

"How did you meet?"

There a moment's pause while Olivia realised that they were starting from absolutely nothing. Between them, Alex and Olivia both told that story, filling in details that the other missed and correcting each other's mistakes. William watched and listened, and was, after ten minutes, smiling faintly at the obvious delight on his daughter's face when she spoke of the woman she loved. He had watched her burn through men like molten ice since she was a teenager, and could not say that he disapproved of anyone who made her so simply and completely happy.

Kate had not said anything. She stared intently at the sky, the porch column, the tablecloth scattered with crumbs, the sugar bowl, tendrils of her sister's bright hair floating on the breeze, the dark smile of the woman her sister was in love with, the teapot, the porch lamp. Alex kept an eye on her, and was assessing how well she was doing. It could have been worse. It had been, six months ago; something inside of Kate seemed to have solidified, in some small degree, while Alex had been away.

William agreed, after a little argument, to lend his support and his surname to Jack McCoy. Alex was his favourite daughter, the heir to his estate, and a great source of amusement to him; just watching her talk with such clear enthusiasm for the job she had accepted would have persuaded him to help her. And from the woman next to her, who was almost silent, breaking in only occasionally with a clever remark or forgotten detail, he sensed a hum of contentment, a low, continual happiness which occasionally spiked into a smile, transforming her dark, serious face into something lovely.

They left before dinner. Alex felt a pang of regret at leaving her father alone to deal with Kate, who had been remarkably clear and present but would inevitably return to her own dreaming once they had left. Olivia shooed away the detail, just for a short while, and they took a walk through a nearby park.

"He liked you," Alex said, as they ambled through the trees.

"Really?"

"Yes. So did Kate, in her way."

Olivia did not comment, instead sitting down on a bench which was catching the last rays of sunshine. Alex sat next to her.

"We're not entirely sure what's wrong with her," Alex said quietly. "Mother refused to believe there was any problem at all. It is a very…very _dignified_ insanity."

Olivia still could not think what to say, so instead took Alex's hand in both of hers. Alex put her head on Olivia's shoulder, and Olivia rested her dark head against Alex's bright one.

"How will you be safe tomorrow? In front of all those people?"

"How could I not be safe?" Alex countered. "The place will be swarming with cops. And you will be right next to me."

Olivia was surprised and pleased all at once. "Will I?"

"Of course." As if she would go anywhere even vaguely dangerous without her. As if the thought had even crossed her mind.

"Would you set my mind at ease and wear a vest anyway?"

"Oh, but, Liv," Alex said, her voice very light, "what on earth can I wear over a bulletproof vest? I won't have a single suit which fits."

Olivia smiled at that. "I'll lend you one."

"And a shirt, too."

"Absolutely."

A thread of understanding passed between them. Alex did not wish to apologise for her fractured, disparate family, because at least they were _there_, solid, immutable, _insane_, but present. At least she had a family to be ashamed of. Olivia did not know the words to comfort Alex with, to express how sorry she was for her sisters and how much closer to perfect Alex was than them. Instead, they sat together and discussed which shirt Alex ought to borrow the next day and if, perhaps, she should wear some jewellery.

They were in the bath later that evening, both drinking wine, both so tired that they had let a comfortable silence fall between them. Alex rested her head against Olivia's jaw, then leaned up to kiss her.

"You haven't seen my sisters in their best light," she said. This sentence was the product of fifteen minutes of careful thought.

"I liked Kate," Olivia said, slowly. "She was sweet to me. She also didn't seem to care that I was female."

"Kate doesn't always see details. She thinks in decades. Caro thinks in minutes."

Olivia nodded, which Alex felt rather than saw.

"And even Caro will come around. Eventually. When we've been married for twenty years and live on the Upper East Side, perhaps."

Olivia laughed softly in Alex's ear. "I like the sound of that. How are we affording it?"

"I'm the DA, and you get promoted up and up and up," Alex said. "And we will blow through my trust fund with reckless abandon."

"And we'll have a claw-footed bathtub in every bathroom," Olivia said, to make Alex smile.

"And a library the size of this apartment."

"And lots of fireplaces."

"And we won't be afraid of anyone."

Olivia wrapped her arms more securely around Alex's waist, and kissed her.

"I look forward to it."


	32. Press

Olivia woke up early the next morning. Alex was still asleep, her hair spread over the pillow in a very touching way, pale gold and delicate. Her arms were over her head, as if trying to block out sunlight, and she was smiling, faintly, at some pleasant dream. Olivia breathed in, then out, happiness settling over her like dust.

A small part of her was reluctant to wake Alex up - she seemed so content, and while Olivia knew that she was safe _here_, asleep in a sun-drenched room in a guarded apartment, she could not say the same of the DA's office. She would like to stay here, in this happy, sunny apartment, where no-one could hurt them and they were together. But she was nothing if not practical, and, with a small sigh, began to shake Alex gently awake.

They made it to the office in remarkable time; Olivia did not think she had ever seen New York so quiet. The streets were thick with browning leaves, and there was an oddly still air about the city, as it had been dampened or muffled. People were few and far between.

"What's going on?" Alex asked, staring out of the window. "We ought to be gridlocked."

"Maybe something's happened," Olivia said.

But when they reached the courthouse, and began to skim idly through the papers which had been delivered to Alex's new office (still a bare shell, with dust rings where paintings and diplomas had been on the walls and sad, empty bookshelves), they saw that the news was distinctly unsensational - taxes, strikes and the Supreme Court. Alex shrugged, and Olivia shrugged back, both a little baffled. They began to unpack Alex's things from their boxes; hang a tidy row of certificates up behind her desk (Olivia was much better at this than Alex, who had not got the knack of juggling frame and nail and hammer), organise Alex's law books (which Olivia was absolutely _no_ help with, not knowing an legal treatise from a casebook, and not caring to learn), work out how far they were from the coffee machine, realise that the coffee was just as _appalling_ on this floor as it was on the floor below, and settle onto the couch under the window together. They were only three minutes into a conversation about the relative merits of books vs. films when McCoy arrived.

The press were gathered at the foot of an imposing flight of stairs, which McCoy, Alex, and, at a respectable distance, Olivia, descended. McCoy and Alex stepped up onto a podium, and began to field questions, post of which were fairly good-natured - was Alex, for instance, the same Alex Cabot who had been shot dead six years ago? Did she wish to comment on how that was possible? Was she, in fact, a vampire? Alex and McCoy were almost enjoying themselves; Alex's predecessor had been much despised by the press, refusing to give interviews and threatening photographers with restraining orders, and Alex Cabot, valiant in the face of danger, achingly beautiful, hardworking, selfless and just, made for an attractive contrast.

They were ten minutes in before Olivia started to relax. Even then, her eyes were restless, scanning the crowd for hostile faces, but the journalists didn't seem angry, or even particularly intent - most seemed rather pleased that they had been given such an easy assignment.

And then the flash of metal, and a sudden noise, and screams. Alex fell, and McCoy threw himself to the ground beside her with an almost military precision.

"Alex!"

Olivia was at Alex's side in seconds. Alex's opened her eyes and smiled, somewhat painfully, up at Olivia.

"Hit my vest," she said. "Nothing serious."

Relieved beyond measure, Olivia sprang back to her feet and scanned the crowd again. _There_ - a figure, skirting towards her, looking to escape discreetly through the side exit. She pounced, almost feline, and heard people's gasps and yelps of surprise as she landed, tumbling onto the shooter and pinning him firmly to the ground.

By that point, every single journalist was running back to their press van, trying desperately to be the first to report on the unexpected shooting. Olivia cuffed the shooter, and took time to look at him while retrieving his weapon.

He was ordinary, nondescript; if she had seen him in the street, she wouldn't have looked twice. He was of medium height, medium weight, medium-length hair of a medium brown, not desperately attractive but not hideous either, in a dark suit and white shirt. He could be anyone, anywhere. Instead, he was the man who had tried to kill the woman she was in love with. She only barely refrained from causing him bodily harm.

"Who the hell are you?" she spat. Alex's protective detail were approaching at a run, startled by the gunshot. The man said nothing. Olivia shoved his head backwards between her hands.

"Who sent you?"

He was mute. Practically steaming with frustration, Olivia handed him off to the uniforms and instructed them to take him to the 1-6, where she would deal with him personally.

And then she was back at Alex's side. McCoy had moved her away from the podium to an alcove, where she was sitting, winded, but essentially alright. Olivia's suit and shirt had two neat bullet holes at Alex's waist.

"Alex," Olivia said. Alex reached up her arms, in such an uncertain, gentle gesture that Olivia felt all of her black fury dissipate clean away. Olivia held her for a moment, felt her heart beat, felt the soft brush of her breath against her own skin, and was reassured that, once again, Alex Cabot had cheated death.

"You _must_ stop doing this," Olivia said, and Alex laughed softly in her ear.

"I owe you a new suit," she said. "Remind me later."

McCoy coughed, not ungraciously, and they broke apart. His expression was not irate, or even surprised; it was, overwhelmingly, amused.

"Alexandra. Do please tell me this shooting nonsense won't become a regular feature of your time here?"

Alex looked over at Olivia, whose hand was still held loosely in her own, and let an exhausted, brilliant smile spread across her face.

"No, Jack. That ought to be the last of it."


End file.
